NEW! "Let Your Demons Run" (ATWT/Nuke/Angels Lie)
Title: Let Your Demons Run
What It Is: Oneshot/Songfic/"Angels Lie" 'verse
Rating: R for language, content
Prompt: Still another sequel to “Angels Lie”!
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em. Don’t make no money.
Warning GIANT FUCKING WARNING! PLEASE READ!
link
Note: Now that Luke and Noah are reunited, their happy ending begins...um, after this chapter. Sorry, folks!
***
Warning GIANT FUCKING WARNING! PLEASE READ!
This chapter contains veiled discussions of non-con. You’ve been warned.
***
***
Let Your Demons Run
Reid’s having a shitty day even before he runs into Luke. And running into Luke just makes things shittier.
For the past week, ever since Noah disappeared, Reid’s gone cold turkey on Luke Snyder. No phone calls, no emails, no face-to-face contact. He tells himself it’s the only way to purge himself of his addiction.
It’s taken every ounce of self-control Reid possesses, but he’s managed to not respond to Luke’s voice mails, to not give in to the craving. He’s buried himself in work to avoid going home and facing that empty apartment, that empty bed. He packed up Luke’s things and set them in a box by the door, although he keeps finding little reminders of him everywhere -- a toothbrush in the holder, a shirt hanging in Reid’s closet, a book on the floor underneath the bed.
He washed the sheets twice, but somehow they still smell like Luke.
It’s agony.
Katie insists that he still has a shot with Luke, but Reid knows better. When and if Noah returns, Luke will take him back. If Noah doesn’t return, Luke will never get over it. Either way, Reid Oliver is an afterthought.
Not to mention, Reid finally caught a glimpse of the other Luke, the one everyone kept warning him about. He thought he’d seen him at his most maddening, stubborn, obsessed self, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of a self-destructive, out-of-control, terrified Luke Snyder. That’s a level of crazy Reid’s not willing to deal with.
Or so he tells himself.
Either way, he’s done. He quit. He’s holding strong, working the steps, taking it one day at a time -- until he runs into Luke at Al’s.
Luke looks pale and totally wrecked, like he hasn’t slept in days. His face is drawn, his stunning eyes wide and wan. He apologizes for freaking out, for hitting Reid. He knows it’s not Reid’s fault that Noah disappeared. He was just scared. He overreacted. He’s sorry.
Reid wants to give in, wants it so badly it’s like a burning in his blood.
Instead, he takes refuge in rudeness. He pretends to still be angry that Luke struck him. Which he is, but he also knows damn well that if Luke crooked his finger, Reid would come crawling back on his hands and knees.
Instead, he takes what little pride he has left and flees.
Back at the hospital, Reid buries himself in paperwork for hours, until a blessed numbness finally sets in. When he emerges late at night, he’s surprised to find the hospital teeming with cops. One of them is talking with Chris Hughes, who beckons Reid.
“Dr. Oliver,” he says. “I was just about to page you. This is Detective Dallas Griffin.”
The man nods grimly at Reid. “Dr. Oliver, I have a suspect in custody, but he has a head injury. We need you to examine him and determine whether he’s safe to transport.”
“Fine. Make an appointment. Preferably during daylight hours.” Reid turns away.
“Now, Doctor.”
Reid turns back. “Excuse me?”
“Reid,” Chris says quietly. “Just do it.”
Reid turns on him. “And who made you chief of staff? Oh, wait, that’s right -- your father did.”
To Reid’s disappointment, Chris doesn’t rise to the bait.
“Once you’ve seen the patient, you’ll understand why this is urgent,” he says blandly, then turns away. Reid glares at his back. He knows he could push the issue, provoke a confrontation, but he doesn’t. He’s secretly relieved to have something to do, some reason not to go home.
He allows Detective Griffin to escort him to the exam room -- not that he needs to. There are two other cops stationed outside the door, one holding a shotgun, so it’s not hard to figure out where the prisoner is being held. Griffin isn’t happy when Reid tells him and the other officers to stay outside during the exam, but he obeys. Reid grabs the chart from the door and enters.
***
Reid doesn’t know why he doesn’t connect the dots right away. The only excuse he can allow himself is that seeing Luke threw him off his game. It’s not until he’s staring at the name on the intake form that it registers.
The man is tall and strong, with thick graying hair and startling blue eyes. He’s also preternaturally calm, showing no signs of fear or even concern. He could be an ordinary patient, casually flipping through a magazine while waiting for an appointment, rather than a cold-blooded killer who’s the subject of a statewide manhunt.
The man looks up from a wrinkled issue of Field and Stream.
“Dr. Reid Oliver, I presume.”
Reid’s hands start to shake, but he keeps his voice brisk. “Do I know you?”
“You should. I’m your new best friend.” The man smiles, showing his teeth. “I’m Colonel Winston Mayer.”
You have forsaken
All the love you've taken
Sleepin' on a razor
There's nowhere left to fall
Your body's aching
Every bone is breakin'
Nothin' seems to shake it
It just keeps holdin' on
***
Reid’s blood runs cold. This is the man who nearly killed Luke. Still, years of practice keep his face blank, his tone even.
“Colonel Mayer. I’ve heard a lot of about you.”
“I imagine so.” Mayer smiles again. “And I’ve heard of you.”
Reid represses a shiver and examines the gash on Mayer’s forehead, followed by a basic neurological screen. The Colonel is compliant, eerily so. But he watches Reid the entire time, eyes unwavering, a small smirk on his face.
“You know, Dr. Oliver, I owe you a debt of gratitude. You saved my son.”
Reid steps back and strips off his latex gloves. “How do you figure?”
“You restored his eyesight, yes? I read about it in the paper.”
Reid’s pager goes off. He ignores it. “I was just doing my job.”
“Oh, I think we both know it was more than that.” The Colonel leans closer, and Reid has to fight not to take a step back. “I owe you my thanks. And what’s more, I’m going to offer you a deal. One I think you’ll find quite…desirable.”
“Is that so?” Reid shines his penlight in the Colonel’s pale eyes. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Colonel, but you’re in police custody. You’re not in a position to make deals.”
“Aren’t you curious what I can offer you?”
“I’m afraid not.” Reid clicks his penlight off.
“Even if it concerns Luke Snyder?”
Reid’s throat goes dry. His pager beeps again.
“Somewhere you need to be?” Mayer asks mildly.
Reid turns his pager off. “Not at the moment.”
Mayer smirks again. “So I take it you’re interested in my proposal.”
“Again, I have to point out that you’re in police custody. You’re in no position to be making deals -- or threats.”
Mayer’s eyes narrow. “How do you think I escaped from Statesville in the first place? I had help, Dr. Oliver. Associates. Both on the inside and on the outside. Those associates could make life very uncomfortable for Luke Snyder. Or,” he pauses. “I can guarantee his safety.”
Again, Reid thanks the years of practice that keep his face expressionless. “What makes you think--”
“Spare me the denials, Dr. Oliver,” Mayer snaps. “You and Snyder haven’t exactly made a secret of your relationship.” His face twists for a moment, revealing the ugliness behind the smile. Then the mask slides back into place. “Even if you had, my associates have been watching you for months. I know how you feel about him.”
Even Reid’s self-control slips at that, and Mayer smiles thinly. “Trust me, you’re not the only man who’s fallen under Luke Snyder’s sway. Fortunately, Noah came to his senses -- and my goal is to get him as far away from Snyder as possible. So you see,” he leans back again. “We both want the same thing. And all I need from you is one tiny favor.”
The door opens suddenly, making Reid jump.
“What is it?” Reid snaps.
“Dr. Oliver.” It’s that idiot nurse, Alison Stewart. “Dr. Hughes needs you for a consult.” She deliberately avoids looking at Colonel Mayer.
“I’m busy.”
“Go right ahead, Doctor,” the Colonel interjects smoothly. “I’ll just wait here.” He leans back on the exam table and puts his hands behind his head. “Trust me, I’m in no hurry.”
Griffin leans in the doorway behind Alison. “Can we move him or not, Doc?”
“I haven’t finished my exam yet,” Reid snaps.
Griffin scowls. “What’s taking so long?”
“Dr. Oliver,” Alison says urgently.
Reid ignores her. “I need to run some tests to rule out a major concussion.”
“A little bump on the head never killed nobody,” Griffin growls.
“Really. And where did you receive your medical degree, Detective, from a box of Cracker Jacks?”
“Dr. Oliver!” Ali hisses. She glances at the Colonel and lowers her voice. “Please.”
“Fine,” Reid snarls. He jabs a finger at Griffin. “Don’t even think of moving my patient without my permission.”
Cutting off Griffin’s retort, Reid closes the door behind him and glares at Alison. “Well?”
She actually grabs his arm and drags him down the corridor. “Chris needs you in surgery.”
“I highly doubt Dr. Hughes is performing advanced neurosurgery in the middle of the night. And if he is, God help his patient. If he isn’t, then it’s not my--”
“It’s Noah.”
Reid stops. “What?”
Alison gets behind Reid and shoves until he starts walking again. “It’s Noah. He turned his father in, but he’s been shot. Chris needs you in surgery. There’s no other qualified surgeon on staff tonight and there’s no time to call anybody in.” She pushes Reid bodily into the elevator and hits the button. “So get your ass in there and do your job.”
Your soul is able
Death is all you cradle
Sleepin' on the nails
There's nowhere left to fall
You have admired
Every man desires
Everyone is king
When there's no one left to pawn
***
Here’s the thing. For the past week, ever since the night Noah disappeared, Reid’s had this little problem. It’s happened before when he’s been stressed out, and he knows it will go away in time and it’s nothing he can’t handle, especially if he could just have another cigarette, but by the time he’s finished scrubbing in, his hands are shaking like a virgin’s on prom night, and then when he sees Noah, his blood runs cold again and he can’t do this, he can’t, he just can’t.
“God dammit, Noah, breathe. I know you can hear me,” Chris yells. “Breathe!”
He can’t even move, it’s like his feet are glued to the floor, and really, if this were a thriller on TV, the chief of police would be telling him to turn in his gun and his badge., “You’re too close to this case,” he’d say and he’s right, because what if Noah dies and Reid has to tell Luke, not to mention the Colonel, and God only knows what his thugs would do to Luke, because Noah looks like sheer hell, and if this is how the man treats his only son, then Luke doesn’t have a prayer.
“His BP’s dropping,” the nurse anesthetist says. “We’re losing him.”
“Oh, hell no, Mayer,” Chris snaps. “Not on my watch. Don’t you fucking dare!” He looks up and sees Reid. “Where the hell have you been?”
His voice yanks Reid out of his fog. “You paged?” he sneers.
“Damn right I paged. Three fucking minutes ago. Now get the hell over here and help me.”
By some miracle, Reid manages his usual hauteur. “I hate to point out the obvious, but even you don’t need my help with a routine pnuemothorax. And I don’t perform general surgery.”
Chris’ eyes widen behind his mask. “Are you freaking kidding me?”
Reid’s hands are shaking so bad, he can’t believe Chris doesn’t see it. “Find someone else,” he says, turning away. “Preferably someone with a lower--”
“Shut the FUCK UP!” Chris roars. Reid freezes, along with everyone else. For a moment, the only sound in the room is Noah’s tortured breathing.
Then Chris speaks again, this time with icy calm. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Dr. Oliver, but it’s the middle of the night and we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. There is no one else. I don’t care what your professional issues are. I don’t care what your personal issues are. I will NOT lose a patient because of your God-damned ego! Now get over here!”
For some reason, his rage is just the tonic Reid needs. He feels his shaking subside and his panic ease. He even manages a swagger as he approaches the table. “Fine,” he says. “But can we at least turn on some Mozart? I need something to keep my brain occupied.”
***
After the surgery, Reid tries to escape, but the hospital is now teeming with Snyders, and the last thing he needs is to see Luke. What he needs is time to think. He escapes to the roof and smokes four cigarettes. The rain has finally stopped, and he turns his face to the night sky, relishing the cool air on his face.
Clearly, this situation is containable. Colonel Mayer is in custody, and there’s no way he could get to Luke, even if he still has an accomplice or two at large. Now that the Colonel’s been arrested, they’re bound to disappear rather than risk getting caught. Besides, between the Snyders and the security firm Lucinda Walsh hired, Luke has his own private army to guard him. Although, when Reid ran into him earlier at Al’s, there wasn’t an armed guard in sight -- just Luke’s idiot friend Casey Hughes. (Whose reprimand to Reid still stings, although he tells himself it doesn’t.) Knowing Luke, he probably ditched the security detail so he could run off and do something ridiculously rash and dangerous.
Reid tamps down the spurt of anxiety the thought brings, and reminds himself that the Colonel is in custody and Luke is no longer in danger. He’s making his way back to the ER to tell Colonel Mayer to go to hell when Alison stops him and says Chris needs him again, this time in Noah’s room. She’s subdued, and her eyes look like she’s been crying, and Reid’s too damn tired at this point to argue with her, so he doesn’t bother.
Noah’s still unconscious, and if possible, he looks even worse than he did before. Per triage protocol, surgery focused on his most pressing injuries, but now that that’s over, Reid can see just how much damage has been done elsewhere. The fluorescent light overhead makes the bruises on Noah’s skin even more livid and discolored. Behind the oxygen mask, he’s frowning, and his bruised fingers twitch even in sleep.
The door opens, startling Reid. Chris enters with Jack Snyder in tow. His voice is low so as not to wake Noah, but clear and surprisingly firm. “Like I said, I don’t care how many law enforcement agencies are involved in this case. I’m only doing this once.”
“Okay,” Jack says slowly. He scratches his head, his expression one of reluctance. “I can tell you right now, the state crime lab--”
“I don’t think you heard me,” Chris interrupts. “We’re doing this once.”
Reid looks at him in surprise. Except for earlier tonight, he’s never heard his rival sound so authoritative. He idly wonders when Chris grew a pair.
Chris holds up a file folder. “I’ve prepared a written report,” he tells Jack. “I’ll walk you through it, and you get whatever photos you need. Then we’re done. I won’t have my patient disturbed again, understood?”
Jack rocks back on his heels. “Understood,” he says finally.
Reid stands and heads for the door. “Speaking of patients, I’ll just be getting back to my mine--”
“Please stay, Dr. Oliver.” Chris’ voice stops him in his tracks. “I need an assistant and I prefer it not be a nurse.”
Reid wants to complain that he’s a world-famous neurosurgeon, not an assistant, dammit, but something in Chris’ manner stops him. “Very well.”
Chris opens the file and begins cataloguing Noah’s injuries, his voice clinical and detached. Occasionally, he stops to point out some of the major sites, such as the rope marks on his wrists and ankles, the stripes on his back, the places where his tattoos have been mutilated. Jack snaps photos with his cell phone and scribbles in his notepad. Then Chris moves on while Reid replaces the dressings. Jack looks increasingly sick, matching how Reid feels.
“Is Colonel Mayer left-handed?” Chris asks abruptly.
Jack looks up from his notepad. “I have no idea. Why do you ask?”
Chris nods at Noah. “Whoever did this used their left hand, primarily.”
When Jack stares at him, Chris shrugs and hands him the file folder. “It’s one of the things you pick up working in a refugee camp.”
Jack nods. “Makes sense. Anything else you can deduce?”
“These bruises here?” Chris points to a mottled patch on Noah’s ribs. “Were made at least 24 hours before these.” He indicates the livid marks on his neck. “Which means this took place over at least two days.”
He looks at Jack. “In other words, whoever did this took his time. And he was a professional. Military trained, probably.”
Jack frowns. “How can you tell?”
Chris shrugs again. “The method. Maximum pain, minimum damage.” He carefully pulls the hospital gown back over Noah’s chest.
Jack grimaces. “Colonel Mayer’s accomplice worked at a containment facility for Iraqi prisoners.”
Chris looks up sharply. “The Colonel had an accomplice?”
“Yeah, a guy named Maloney. Ex-military, former MP, dishonorable discharge. Margo asked Tom to make some calls to the VA, see what he could dig upon his record. I just got off the phone with him.”
“Do we know why he was discharged?”
Jack shakes his head in disgust. “The records are sealed. Tom said he’d keep digging.”
“I see.” Chris untangles Noah’s IV cord and tucks it under his arm, his movements precise but gentle.
“Anything else?”
Chris adjusts the sheets around Noah and turns off the light over the bed. “Most of the earlier injuries were treated at least once. That tells me they wanted to keep him alive and in relatively good health.”
Jack raises his eyebrows.
“I said relatively,” Chris snaps. “No broken bones, nothing requiring major medical attention. Makes it easier to move a prisoner quickly.”
Jack nods. “That jibes with what we know. They held Noah on a fishing boat for a few days, then made him drive the getaway vehicle. That’s how he escaped.” He turns to Reid. “Speaking of which, what’s the Colonel’s condition? Can I take him into custody or what?”
Reid clears his throat. “I ordered some tests. He sustained quite a blow to the head.”
Jack scowls.
“What about the accomplice?” Chris asks. “Is he in custody?” His fingers tighten around the rail of Noah’s bed.
Jack grimaces. “Still at large. Noah says he’s dead, but until I see a body…” He shrugs and opens the file folder. “Is that it?”
Chris hesitates. “There’s one more thing. It’s in the report, but that’s all the evidence I’ll allow. No photos.”
Jack glances up. “What…” His voice trails off when he sees Chris’ expression. “Aw, Jesus. No.”
“Yeah.”
Jack sits heavily in a chair by the bed. His shoulders sag. “Are you--”
“Yes,” Chris says. “I’m sure.”
“Did you--”
“Yes,” Chris interrupts again. “I did a kit. I’ll have the results sent to your office. Assuming there are any results. If the assailant used a condom, then--”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Jack runs a hand over his face, then squints sourly up at Chris. “More refugee camp experience, Doctor?”
“No. Just a good old American emergency room.”
Jack sighs. “I hear that.” He stares off into space for a minute, his face bleak.
“Obviously, this information is confidential,” Chris says. “I realize it needs to be reported to the authorities--”
Jack frowns. “You can count on my department to be discreet.”
“What about your family?” Chris asks bluntly. “This may be a small-town hospital, but my patient’s condition is nobody’s God-damn business. And we’re still subject to federal privacy laws.”
Jack winces. “Yeah, I get it. I’ll try to hold the Snyders at bay. It’s just, we kinda consider Noah one of our own.” He looks sadly Noah’s still figure, then at Chris. “So you were serious about the no visitors thing.”
“As serious as a heart attack.”
Jack looks dubious. “Not even Luke?”
Hello? I’m right here, Reid thinks sourly. Luke Snyder’s supposed boyfriend. He reminds himself again that, in the eyes of Oakdale, he’s never been more than a placeholder.
Chris shakes his head. “Noah needs privacy and rest. When he wakes up, he can have a few visitors if -- and only if -- he wants them. Luke can wait his turn like everyone else.”
At the mention of Luke’s name, Noah twitches and mutters, tossing his head restlessly on the pillow. At Chris’ nod, Reid and Jack leave the room.Chris turns off the overhead light, then follows. He leaves the door slightly ajar. Reid doesn’t ask why.
“Call me anytime.” Chris tells Jack.“Whatever you need from me. Analysis, expert testimony--”
“Don’t worry,” Jack says grimly. “We’ll nail the motherfucker.”
Chris gives a stiff nod. “That’s all I want.”
Jack shakes Chris’ hand, then surprises Reid by shaking his. As he leaves, he pulls out his cell phone and hits speed dial. “It’s Snyder,” he barks when the other party answers, clearly on the first ring. “I need to see you…Do I sound like I give a damn what time it is?”
Reid can’t really feel his legs right now, but they somehow manage to carry him to the physicians' locker room, where he vomits for ten minutes straight. Then he brushes his teeth, strips off his scrubs, and takes the hottest shower he can stand.
When he emerges, wrapping a towel around his waist, Chris is waiting, leaning against the lockers with his arms folded.
“What do you want now?” Reid snaps.
Chris’ expression is infuriatingly mild. “Just checking up on you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.” Reid bangs open his locker door. He’s annoyed at how close Chris is standing but refuses to ask him to move. “And unlike most of the personnel in this hospital, I’m a professional.”
Still leaning, Chris turns his body so he’s facing Reid. “Professional or not, it’s still difficult seeing something like that.”
“Not for me.”
“Uh huh. Then why are you shaking?”
“I’m not shaking,” Reid hisses. “Now, if you don’t mind….” He indicates his naked body, still wet from the shower.
“Actually, I don’t mind at all.” Chris’ eyes linger on Reid’s chest.
To Reid’s horror, his body starts to react to Chris’ gaze. “I thought your experimental phase was over in med school,” he snarls.
Chris shrugs and looks away, his expression still mild. “Easy come, easy go.”
Furious, Reid pulls on his pants as quickly as he can, hurling his wet towel across the room to the laundry basket.
“How’s the Colonel?” Chris asks abruptly.
“I’m still assessing.” Reid pulls a dress shirt from his locker and slips it on, angry when his fingers fumble with the buttons.
“Are you going to be able to treat him objectively?”
“What the hell is this?” Reid slams his locker shut. “More advice from the field? Words of wisdom from the savior of the masses? Do you honestly think, because I’ve never worked in some refugee camp, that I can’t be objective in a situation like this?”
To Reid’s fury, Chris refuses to rise to the bait. “I’m just saying it’s hard: Seeing something like that, particularly when it’s someone you know, and then having to treat the person who did it.”
“Noah and I aren’t exactly pals,” Reid snarls.
“No, but he’s still a human being,” Chris interrupts. “And so, despite your pretending otherwise, are you.” He steps closer, almost pinning Reid to the locker. “I’ve been watching you all night, Reid, and something’s off. Why don’t you tell me what it is, and let me help you?”
Reid can feel the warmth of Chris' body. He finds himself noticing how many shades of blue there are in Chris’ eyes and how their breathing is now in rhythm, shallow and quick. His traitorous body stirs to life again. Worst of all, he finds himself wanting to tell Chris about the Colonel’s threats, to confide in him--
Chris’ pager goes off with a loud beep. At the same moment, an alarm sounds in the hall.
“Shit!” And just like that Chris is gone, leaving Reid to pull on his socks and shoes with trembling fingers, then sprint after Chris.
Rounding the corner, it only takes him a split second to realize the alarm is coming from Noah’s room, along with shouting. Reid can hear Chris and Alison talking to Noah, encouraging him to breathe. Reid's perturbed but not particularly surprised to see Luke collapsed on the floor outside Noah’s room, sobbing. His idiot friend Casey has his arms around him.
“What the hell is going on?" Reid asks.
"Reid! Get in here!" Chris bellows.
Reid wants to stay with Luke but obeys, pausing to switch on the harsh overhead light. The room is wrecked. The bedside table and chair are knocked over, and Noah has torn off most of the equipment leads. He’s fighting to get out of bed, eyes wild and desperate.
“Hold him down,” Chris orders grimly. “And shut that fucking door.”
Again, Reid obeys instantly. It takes all of his strength to restrain Noah, and he knows the only reason he’s even capable of it is because of his weakened state. Even so Noah almost manages to almost throw him across the room. His eyes grow even more wide and terrified as Reid wrestles him down a second time, and Reid knows that it’s not his face that Noah sees. Noah screams, sobbing and begging them to stop.
“Got him?” Chris yells over the commotion.
“Yeah, but not for long,” Reid grunts, as Noah bucks beneath him.
Chris pulls a small syringe out of the pocket of his lab coat, pulls the cap off with his teeth and spits it away, then plunges the needle into the crook of Noah’s arm. After a few seconds, Noah’s struggles subside. They wait, breathing hard but hanging on, until his body relaxes, his head lolls on the pillow, and his eyelids flutter closed.
“Jesus,” Chris says finally. They ease back, slowly. Reid looks at the syringe in Chris’ hand.
“You always carry that around, Dr. Hughes?” he asks sourly.
Chris shakes his head, his expression bleak. “It’s not my first rodeo,” he replies. He reaches up and strokes Noah’s sweat-dampened hair off his forehead. “Get some sleep, buddy,” he murmurs. “You’re safe now. We got this.”
***
Reid doesn’t stop to talk to Luke, who is still sobbing on the floor. Both Casey and Alison have their arms wrapped around him and are rocking him back and forth and murmuring to him.
As he strides back to the ER area, Reid realizes that the sun is coming up. The long night is over, and a new day has begun.
There are now a detective, two police officers, two state troopers, and a guy who looks suspiciously like FBI waiting outside Colonel Mayer’s door. Reid gives Dallas a nod and enters, closing the door behind him.
The Colonel is exactly where Reid left him, relaxing on the exam table. He opens one eye when Reid enters and gives a long, lazy stretch, like a cat lolling in the sun.
“Yes?” he says. “What did you decide?”
Reid takes a deep breath. “We’ve got a deal,” he says. "You leave Luke alone, and I'll do whatever you want."
There is no peace here
War is never cheap dear
Love will never meet here
It just gets sold for parts
You cannot fight it
All the world denies it
Open up your eyelids
And let your demons run
The End
***
**Lyrics from “Beat the Devil’s Tattoo” by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club**
What It Is: Oneshot/Songfic/"Angels Lie" 'verse
Rating: R for language, content
Prompt: Still another sequel to “Angels Lie”!
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em. Don’t make no money.
Warning GIANT FUCKING WARNING! PLEASE READ!
link
Note: Now that Luke and Noah are reunited, their happy ending begins...um, after this chapter. Sorry, folks!
***
Warning GIANT FUCKING WARNING! PLEASE READ!
This chapter contains veiled discussions of non-con. You’ve been warned.
***
***
Let Your Demons Run
Reid’s having a shitty day even before he runs into Luke. And running into Luke just makes things shittier.
For the past week, ever since Noah disappeared, Reid’s gone cold turkey on Luke Snyder. No phone calls, no emails, no face-to-face contact. He tells himself it’s the only way to purge himself of his addiction.
It’s taken every ounce of self-control Reid possesses, but he’s managed to not respond to Luke’s voice mails, to not give in to the craving. He’s buried himself in work to avoid going home and facing that empty apartment, that empty bed. He packed up Luke’s things and set them in a box by the door, although he keeps finding little reminders of him everywhere -- a toothbrush in the holder, a shirt hanging in Reid’s closet, a book on the floor underneath the bed.
He washed the sheets twice, but somehow they still smell like Luke.
It’s agony.
Katie insists that he still has a shot with Luke, but Reid knows better. When and if Noah returns, Luke will take him back. If Noah doesn’t return, Luke will never get over it. Either way, Reid Oliver is an afterthought.
Not to mention, Reid finally caught a glimpse of the other Luke, the one everyone kept warning him about. He thought he’d seen him at his most maddening, stubborn, obsessed self, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of a self-destructive, out-of-control, terrified Luke Snyder. That’s a level of crazy Reid’s not willing to deal with.
Or so he tells himself.
Either way, he’s done. He quit. He’s holding strong, working the steps, taking it one day at a time -- until he runs into Luke at Al’s.
Luke looks pale and totally wrecked, like he hasn’t slept in days. His face is drawn, his stunning eyes wide and wan. He apologizes for freaking out, for hitting Reid. He knows it’s not Reid’s fault that Noah disappeared. He was just scared. He overreacted. He’s sorry.
Reid wants to give in, wants it so badly it’s like a burning in his blood.
Instead, he takes refuge in rudeness. He pretends to still be angry that Luke struck him. Which he is, but he also knows damn well that if Luke crooked his finger, Reid would come crawling back on his hands and knees.
Instead, he takes what little pride he has left and flees.
Back at the hospital, Reid buries himself in paperwork for hours, until a blessed numbness finally sets in. When he emerges late at night, he’s surprised to find the hospital teeming with cops. One of them is talking with Chris Hughes, who beckons Reid.
“Dr. Oliver,” he says. “I was just about to page you. This is Detective Dallas Griffin.”
The man nods grimly at Reid. “Dr. Oliver, I have a suspect in custody, but he has a head injury. We need you to examine him and determine whether he’s safe to transport.”
“Fine. Make an appointment. Preferably during daylight hours.” Reid turns away.
“Now, Doctor.”
Reid turns back. “Excuse me?”
“Reid,” Chris says quietly. “Just do it.”
Reid turns on him. “And who made you chief of staff? Oh, wait, that’s right -- your father did.”
To Reid’s disappointment, Chris doesn’t rise to the bait.
“Once you’ve seen the patient, you’ll understand why this is urgent,” he says blandly, then turns away. Reid glares at his back. He knows he could push the issue, provoke a confrontation, but he doesn’t. He’s secretly relieved to have something to do, some reason not to go home.
He allows Detective Griffin to escort him to the exam room -- not that he needs to. There are two other cops stationed outside the door, one holding a shotgun, so it’s not hard to figure out where the prisoner is being held. Griffin isn’t happy when Reid tells him and the other officers to stay outside during the exam, but he obeys. Reid grabs the chart from the door and enters.
***
Reid doesn’t know why he doesn’t connect the dots right away. The only excuse he can allow himself is that seeing Luke threw him off his game. It’s not until he’s staring at the name on the intake form that it registers.
The man is tall and strong, with thick graying hair and startling blue eyes. He’s also preternaturally calm, showing no signs of fear or even concern. He could be an ordinary patient, casually flipping through a magazine while waiting for an appointment, rather than a cold-blooded killer who’s the subject of a statewide manhunt.
The man looks up from a wrinkled issue of Field and Stream.
“Dr. Reid Oliver, I presume.”
Reid’s hands start to shake, but he keeps his voice brisk. “Do I know you?”
“You should. I’m your new best friend.” The man smiles, showing his teeth. “I’m Colonel Winston Mayer.”
You have forsaken
All the love you've taken
Sleepin' on a razor
There's nowhere left to fall
Your body's aching
Every bone is breakin'
Nothin' seems to shake it
It just keeps holdin' on
***
Reid’s blood runs cold. This is the man who nearly killed Luke. Still, years of practice keep his face blank, his tone even.
“Colonel Mayer. I’ve heard a lot of about you.”
“I imagine so.” Mayer smiles again. “And I’ve heard of you.”
Reid represses a shiver and examines the gash on Mayer’s forehead, followed by a basic neurological screen. The Colonel is compliant, eerily so. But he watches Reid the entire time, eyes unwavering, a small smirk on his face.
“You know, Dr. Oliver, I owe you a debt of gratitude. You saved my son.”
Reid steps back and strips off his latex gloves. “How do you figure?”
“You restored his eyesight, yes? I read about it in the paper.”
Reid’s pager goes off. He ignores it. “I was just doing my job.”
“Oh, I think we both know it was more than that.” The Colonel leans closer, and Reid has to fight not to take a step back. “I owe you my thanks. And what’s more, I’m going to offer you a deal. One I think you’ll find quite…desirable.”
“Is that so?” Reid shines his penlight in the Colonel’s pale eyes. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Colonel, but you’re in police custody. You’re not in a position to make deals.”
“Aren’t you curious what I can offer you?”
“I’m afraid not.” Reid clicks his penlight off.
“Even if it concerns Luke Snyder?”
Reid’s throat goes dry. His pager beeps again.
“Somewhere you need to be?” Mayer asks mildly.
Reid turns his pager off. “Not at the moment.”
Mayer smirks again. “So I take it you’re interested in my proposal.”
“Again, I have to point out that you’re in police custody. You’re in no position to be making deals -- or threats.”
Mayer’s eyes narrow. “How do you think I escaped from Statesville in the first place? I had help, Dr. Oliver. Associates. Both on the inside and on the outside. Those associates could make life very uncomfortable for Luke Snyder. Or,” he pauses. “I can guarantee his safety.”
Again, Reid thanks the years of practice that keep his face expressionless. “What makes you think--”
“Spare me the denials, Dr. Oliver,” Mayer snaps. “You and Snyder haven’t exactly made a secret of your relationship.” His face twists for a moment, revealing the ugliness behind the smile. Then the mask slides back into place. “Even if you had, my associates have been watching you for months. I know how you feel about him.”
Even Reid’s self-control slips at that, and Mayer smiles thinly. “Trust me, you’re not the only man who’s fallen under Luke Snyder’s sway. Fortunately, Noah came to his senses -- and my goal is to get him as far away from Snyder as possible. So you see,” he leans back again. “We both want the same thing. And all I need from you is one tiny favor.”
The door opens suddenly, making Reid jump.
“What is it?” Reid snaps.
“Dr. Oliver.” It’s that idiot nurse, Alison Stewart. “Dr. Hughes needs you for a consult.” She deliberately avoids looking at Colonel Mayer.
“I’m busy.”
“Go right ahead, Doctor,” the Colonel interjects smoothly. “I’ll just wait here.” He leans back on the exam table and puts his hands behind his head. “Trust me, I’m in no hurry.”
Griffin leans in the doorway behind Alison. “Can we move him or not, Doc?”
“I haven’t finished my exam yet,” Reid snaps.
Griffin scowls. “What’s taking so long?”
“Dr. Oliver,” Alison says urgently.
Reid ignores her. “I need to run some tests to rule out a major concussion.”
“A little bump on the head never killed nobody,” Griffin growls.
“Really. And where did you receive your medical degree, Detective, from a box of Cracker Jacks?”
“Dr. Oliver!” Ali hisses. She glances at the Colonel and lowers her voice. “Please.”
“Fine,” Reid snarls. He jabs a finger at Griffin. “Don’t even think of moving my patient without my permission.”
Cutting off Griffin’s retort, Reid closes the door behind him and glares at Alison. “Well?”
She actually grabs his arm and drags him down the corridor. “Chris needs you in surgery.”
“I highly doubt Dr. Hughes is performing advanced neurosurgery in the middle of the night. And if he is, God help his patient. If he isn’t, then it’s not my--”
“It’s Noah.”
Reid stops. “What?”
Alison gets behind Reid and shoves until he starts walking again. “It’s Noah. He turned his father in, but he’s been shot. Chris needs you in surgery. There’s no other qualified surgeon on staff tonight and there’s no time to call anybody in.” She pushes Reid bodily into the elevator and hits the button. “So get your ass in there and do your job.”
Your soul is able
Death is all you cradle
Sleepin' on the nails
There's nowhere left to fall
You have admired
Every man desires
Everyone is king
When there's no one left to pawn
***
Here’s the thing. For the past week, ever since the night Noah disappeared, Reid’s had this little problem. It’s happened before when he’s been stressed out, and he knows it will go away in time and it’s nothing he can’t handle, especially if he could just have another cigarette, but by the time he’s finished scrubbing in, his hands are shaking like a virgin’s on prom night, and then when he sees Noah, his blood runs cold again and he can’t do this, he can’t, he just can’t.
“God dammit, Noah, breathe. I know you can hear me,” Chris yells. “Breathe!”
He can’t even move, it’s like his feet are glued to the floor, and really, if this were a thriller on TV, the chief of police would be telling him to turn in his gun and his badge., “You’re too close to this case,” he’d say and he’s right, because what if Noah dies and Reid has to tell Luke, not to mention the Colonel, and God only knows what his thugs would do to Luke, because Noah looks like sheer hell, and if this is how the man treats his only son, then Luke doesn’t have a prayer.
“His BP’s dropping,” the nurse anesthetist says. “We’re losing him.”
“Oh, hell no, Mayer,” Chris snaps. “Not on my watch. Don’t you fucking dare!” He looks up and sees Reid. “Where the hell have you been?”
His voice yanks Reid out of his fog. “You paged?” he sneers.
“Damn right I paged. Three fucking minutes ago. Now get the hell over here and help me.”
By some miracle, Reid manages his usual hauteur. “I hate to point out the obvious, but even you don’t need my help with a routine pnuemothorax. And I don’t perform general surgery.”
Chris’ eyes widen behind his mask. “Are you freaking kidding me?”
Reid’s hands are shaking so bad, he can’t believe Chris doesn’t see it. “Find someone else,” he says, turning away. “Preferably someone with a lower--”
“Shut the FUCK UP!” Chris roars. Reid freezes, along with everyone else. For a moment, the only sound in the room is Noah’s tortured breathing.
Then Chris speaks again, this time with icy calm. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Dr. Oliver, but it’s the middle of the night and we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. There is no one else. I don’t care what your professional issues are. I don’t care what your personal issues are. I will NOT lose a patient because of your God-damned ego! Now get over here!”
For some reason, his rage is just the tonic Reid needs. He feels his shaking subside and his panic ease. He even manages a swagger as he approaches the table. “Fine,” he says. “But can we at least turn on some Mozart? I need something to keep my brain occupied.”
***
After the surgery, Reid tries to escape, but the hospital is now teeming with Snyders, and the last thing he needs is to see Luke. What he needs is time to think. He escapes to the roof and smokes four cigarettes. The rain has finally stopped, and he turns his face to the night sky, relishing the cool air on his face.
Clearly, this situation is containable. Colonel Mayer is in custody, and there’s no way he could get to Luke, even if he still has an accomplice or two at large. Now that the Colonel’s been arrested, they’re bound to disappear rather than risk getting caught. Besides, between the Snyders and the security firm Lucinda Walsh hired, Luke has his own private army to guard him. Although, when Reid ran into him earlier at Al’s, there wasn’t an armed guard in sight -- just Luke’s idiot friend Casey Hughes. (Whose reprimand to Reid still stings, although he tells himself it doesn’t.) Knowing Luke, he probably ditched the security detail so he could run off and do something ridiculously rash and dangerous.
Reid tamps down the spurt of anxiety the thought brings, and reminds himself that the Colonel is in custody and Luke is no longer in danger. He’s making his way back to the ER to tell Colonel Mayer to go to hell when Alison stops him and says Chris needs him again, this time in Noah’s room. She’s subdued, and her eyes look like she’s been crying, and Reid’s too damn tired at this point to argue with her, so he doesn’t bother.
Noah’s still unconscious, and if possible, he looks even worse than he did before. Per triage protocol, surgery focused on his most pressing injuries, but now that that’s over, Reid can see just how much damage has been done elsewhere. The fluorescent light overhead makes the bruises on Noah’s skin even more livid and discolored. Behind the oxygen mask, he’s frowning, and his bruised fingers twitch even in sleep.
The door opens, startling Reid. Chris enters with Jack Snyder in tow. His voice is low so as not to wake Noah, but clear and surprisingly firm. “Like I said, I don’t care how many law enforcement agencies are involved in this case. I’m only doing this once.”
“Okay,” Jack says slowly. He scratches his head, his expression one of reluctance. “I can tell you right now, the state crime lab--”
“I don’t think you heard me,” Chris interrupts. “We’re doing this once.”
Reid looks at him in surprise. Except for earlier tonight, he’s never heard his rival sound so authoritative. He idly wonders when Chris grew a pair.
Chris holds up a file folder. “I’ve prepared a written report,” he tells Jack. “I’ll walk you through it, and you get whatever photos you need. Then we’re done. I won’t have my patient disturbed again, understood?”
Jack rocks back on his heels. “Understood,” he says finally.
Reid stands and heads for the door. “Speaking of patients, I’ll just be getting back to my mine--”
“Please stay, Dr. Oliver.” Chris’ voice stops him in his tracks. “I need an assistant and I prefer it not be a nurse.”
Reid wants to complain that he’s a world-famous neurosurgeon, not an assistant, dammit, but something in Chris’ manner stops him. “Very well.”
Chris opens the file and begins cataloguing Noah’s injuries, his voice clinical and detached. Occasionally, he stops to point out some of the major sites, such as the rope marks on his wrists and ankles, the stripes on his back, the places where his tattoos have been mutilated. Jack snaps photos with his cell phone and scribbles in his notepad. Then Chris moves on while Reid replaces the dressings. Jack looks increasingly sick, matching how Reid feels.
“Is Colonel Mayer left-handed?” Chris asks abruptly.
Jack looks up from his notepad. “I have no idea. Why do you ask?”
Chris nods at Noah. “Whoever did this used their left hand, primarily.”
When Jack stares at him, Chris shrugs and hands him the file folder. “It’s one of the things you pick up working in a refugee camp.”
Jack nods. “Makes sense. Anything else you can deduce?”
“These bruises here?” Chris points to a mottled patch on Noah’s ribs. “Were made at least 24 hours before these.” He indicates the livid marks on his neck. “Which means this took place over at least two days.”
He looks at Jack. “In other words, whoever did this took his time. And he was a professional. Military trained, probably.”
Jack frowns. “How can you tell?”
Chris shrugs again. “The method. Maximum pain, minimum damage.” He carefully pulls the hospital gown back over Noah’s chest.
Jack grimaces. “Colonel Mayer’s accomplice worked at a containment facility for Iraqi prisoners.”
Chris looks up sharply. “The Colonel had an accomplice?”
“Yeah, a guy named Maloney. Ex-military, former MP, dishonorable discharge. Margo asked Tom to make some calls to the VA, see what he could dig upon his record. I just got off the phone with him.”
“Do we know why he was discharged?”
Jack shakes his head in disgust. “The records are sealed. Tom said he’d keep digging.”
“I see.” Chris untangles Noah’s IV cord and tucks it under his arm, his movements precise but gentle.
“Anything else?”
Chris adjusts the sheets around Noah and turns off the light over the bed. “Most of the earlier injuries were treated at least once. That tells me they wanted to keep him alive and in relatively good health.”
Jack raises his eyebrows.
“I said relatively,” Chris snaps. “No broken bones, nothing requiring major medical attention. Makes it easier to move a prisoner quickly.”
Jack nods. “That jibes with what we know. They held Noah on a fishing boat for a few days, then made him drive the getaway vehicle. That’s how he escaped.” He turns to Reid. “Speaking of which, what’s the Colonel’s condition? Can I take him into custody or what?”
Reid clears his throat. “I ordered some tests. He sustained quite a blow to the head.”
Jack scowls.
“What about the accomplice?” Chris asks. “Is he in custody?” His fingers tighten around the rail of Noah’s bed.
Jack grimaces. “Still at large. Noah says he’s dead, but until I see a body…” He shrugs and opens the file folder. “Is that it?”
Chris hesitates. “There’s one more thing. It’s in the report, but that’s all the evidence I’ll allow. No photos.”
Jack glances up. “What…” His voice trails off when he sees Chris’ expression. “Aw, Jesus. No.”
“Yeah.”
Jack sits heavily in a chair by the bed. His shoulders sag. “Are you--”
“Yes,” Chris says. “I’m sure.”
“Did you--”
“Yes,” Chris interrupts again. “I did a kit. I’ll have the results sent to your office. Assuming there are any results. If the assailant used a condom, then--”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Jack runs a hand over his face, then squints sourly up at Chris. “More refugee camp experience, Doctor?”
“No. Just a good old American emergency room.”
Jack sighs. “I hear that.” He stares off into space for a minute, his face bleak.
“Obviously, this information is confidential,” Chris says. “I realize it needs to be reported to the authorities--”
Jack frowns. “You can count on my department to be discreet.”
“What about your family?” Chris asks bluntly. “This may be a small-town hospital, but my patient’s condition is nobody’s God-damn business. And we’re still subject to federal privacy laws.”
Jack winces. “Yeah, I get it. I’ll try to hold the Snyders at bay. It’s just, we kinda consider Noah one of our own.” He looks sadly Noah’s still figure, then at Chris. “So you were serious about the no visitors thing.”
“As serious as a heart attack.”
Jack looks dubious. “Not even Luke?”
Hello? I’m right here, Reid thinks sourly. Luke Snyder’s supposed boyfriend. He reminds himself again that, in the eyes of Oakdale, he’s never been more than a placeholder.
Chris shakes his head. “Noah needs privacy and rest. When he wakes up, he can have a few visitors if -- and only if -- he wants them. Luke can wait his turn like everyone else.”
At the mention of Luke’s name, Noah twitches and mutters, tossing his head restlessly on the pillow. At Chris’ nod, Reid and Jack leave the room.Chris turns off the overhead light, then follows. He leaves the door slightly ajar. Reid doesn’t ask why.
“Call me anytime.” Chris tells Jack.“Whatever you need from me. Analysis, expert testimony--”
“Don’t worry,” Jack says grimly. “We’ll nail the motherfucker.”
Chris gives a stiff nod. “That’s all I want.”
Jack shakes Chris’ hand, then surprises Reid by shaking his. As he leaves, he pulls out his cell phone and hits speed dial. “It’s Snyder,” he barks when the other party answers, clearly on the first ring. “I need to see you…Do I sound like I give a damn what time it is?”
Reid can’t really feel his legs right now, but they somehow manage to carry him to the physicians' locker room, where he vomits for ten minutes straight. Then he brushes his teeth, strips off his scrubs, and takes the hottest shower he can stand.
When he emerges, wrapping a towel around his waist, Chris is waiting, leaning against the lockers with his arms folded.
“What do you want now?” Reid snaps.
Chris’ expression is infuriatingly mild. “Just checking up on you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.” Reid bangs open his locker door. He’s annoyed at how close Chris is standing but refuses to ask him to move. “And unlike most of the personnel in this hospital, I’m a professional.”
Still leaning, Chris turns his body so he’s facing Reid. “Professional or not, it’s still difficult seeing something like that.”
“Not for me.”
“Uh huh. Then why are you shaking?”
“I’m not shaking,” Reid hisses. “Now, if you don’t mind….” He indicates his naked body, still wet from the shower.
“Actually, I don’t mind at all.” Chris’ eyes linger on Reid’s chest.
To Reid’s horror, his body starts to react to Chris’ gaze. “I thought your experimental phase was over in med school,” he snarls.
Chris shrugs and looks away, his expression still mild. “Easy come, easy go.”
Furious, Reid pulls on his pants as quickly as he can, hurling his wet towel across the room to the laundry basket.
“How’s the Colonel?” Chris asks abruptly.
“I’m still assessing.” Reid pulls a dress shirt from his locker and slips it on, angry when his fingers fumble with the buttons.
“Are you going to be able to treat him objectively?”
“What the hell is this?” Reid slams his locker shut. “More advice from the field? Words of wisdom from the savior of the masses? Do you honestly think, because I’ve never worked in some refugee camp, that I can’t be objective in a situation like this?”
To Reid’s fury, Chris refuses to rise to the bait. “I’m just saying it’s hard: Seeing something like that, particularly when it’s someone you know, and then having to treat the person who did it.”
“Noah and I aren’t exactly pals,” Reid snarls.
“No, but he’s still a human being,” Chris interrupts. “And so, despite your pretending otherwise, are you.” He steps closer, almost pinning Reid to the locker. “I’ve been watching you all night, Reid, and something’s off. Why don’t you tell me what it is, and let me help you?”
Reid can feel the warmth of Chris' body. He finds himself noticing how many shades of blue there are in Chris’ eyes and how their breathing is now in rhythm, shallow and quick. His traitorous body stirs to life again. Worst of all, he finds himself wanting to tell Chris about the Colonel’s threats, to confide in him--
Chris’ pager goes off with a loud beep. At the same moment, an alarm sounds in the hall.
“Shit!” And just like that Chris is gone, leaving Reid to pull on his socks and shoes with trembling fingers, then sprint after Chris.
Rounding the corner, it only takes him a split second to realize the alarm is coming from Noah’s room, along with shouting. Reid can hear Chris and Alison talking to Noah, encouraging him to breathe. Reid's perturbed but not particularly surprised to see Luke collapsed on the floor outside Noah’s room, sobbing. His idiot friend Casey has his arms around him.
“What the hell is going on?" Reid asks.
"Reid! Get in here!" Chris bellows.
Reid wants to stay with Luke but obeys, pausing to switch on the harsh overhead light. The room is wrecked. The bedside table and chair are knocked over, and Noah has torn off most of the equipment leads. He’s fighting to get out of bed, eyes wild and desperate.
“Hold him down,” Chris orders grimly. “And shut that fucking door.”
Again, Reid obeys instantly. It takes all of his strength to restrain Noah, and he knows the only reason he’s even capable of it is because of his weakened state. Even so Noah almost manages to almost throw him across the room. His eyes grow even more wide and terrified as Reid wrestles him down a second time, and Reid knows that it’s not his face that Noah sees. Noah screams, sobbing and begging them to stop.
“Got him?” Chris yells over the commotion.
“Yeah, but not for long,” Reid grunts, as Noah bucks beneath him.
Chris pulls a small syringe out of the pocket of his lab coat, pulls the cap off with his teeth and spits it away, then plunges the needle into the crook of Noah’s arm. After a few seconds, Noah’s struggles subside. They wait, breathing hard but hanging on, until his body relaxes, his head lolls on the pillow, and his eyelids flutter closed.
“Jesus,” Chris says finally. They ease back, slowly. Reid looks at the syringe in Chris’ hand.
“You always carry that around, Dr. Hughes?” he asks sourly.
Chris shakes his head, his expression bleak. “It’s not my first rodeo,” he replies. He reaches up and strokes Noah’s sweat-dampened hair off his forehead. “Get some sleep, buddy,” he murmurs. “You’re safe now. We got this.”
***
Reid doesn’t stop to talk to Luke, who is still sobbing on the floor. Both Casey and Alison have their arms wrapped around him and are rocking him back and forth and murmuring to him.
As he strides back to the ER area, Reid realizes that the sun is coming up. The long night is over, and a new day has begun.
There are now a detective, two police officers, two state troopers, and a guy who looks suspiciously like FBI waiting outside Colonel Mayer’s door. Reid gives Dallas a nod and enters, closing the door behind him.
The Colonel is exactly where Reid left him, relaxing on the exam table. He opens one eye when Reid enters and gives a long, lazy stretch, like a cat lolling in the sun.
“Yes?” he says. “What did you decide?”
Reid takes a deep breath. “We’ve got a deal,” he says. "You leave Luke alone, and I'll do whatever you want."
There is no peace here
War is never cheap dear
Love will never meet here
It just gets sold for parts
You cannot fight it
All the world denies it
Open up your eyelids
And let your demons run
The End
***
**Lyrics from “Beat the Devil’s Tattoo” by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club**