Luke/Reid Fic: "Found," 2/?
Second chapter in my fix-it fic. I'm really excited that you guys liked the first part, as I'm quite enjoying writing this. :) Thanks to mcfeste for the beta, and to paddies for the language assistance.
Ratings vary per chapter, but will go up to NC-17.
Part one
Luke crawls across the floor toward the window. His phone lies near the glass where it spun to a stop after flying from his grip. He jams it against his ear and hears the automated voice repeating a list of options. He carefully presses the number nine to save the message. Then he listens again.
His lungs burn as he struggles for breath, tremors racking his body as Reid - God, it’s Reid - pleads for help. Luke knows this is a dream; that Reid is dead, and this is not his voice. This is not truly happening.
Yet no matter how hard he tries, he can’t wake. He thinks perhaps he’s dying, and the fevered end of his body is warping his mind, twisting his fears and desires into a last nightmare. Leaning his head against the cold glass, eyes closed, Luke concentrates on breathing. In and out. In and out. It cannot be real.
He tries to listen to the message again, but has lost service. Panic flaps its wings and he stumbles to his feet, holding the phone out as he seeks a signal. He almost trips in the pool of vomit by his bed and barely manages to stay upright on the stairs. Shoving his boots on, Luke opens the front door and wades through the snow on the veranda.
The phone flickers to life with one bar, and he dials his voicemail again, bracing against the frigid temperature. Shaking, he listens to the message over and over, wondering when he’ll wake up.
*
Luke’s reflection in the bathroom mirror stares back, eyes wide, dark circles below. Lips crusty with the remnants of vomit. As he stares at himself, gripping the edges of the counter, Luke wonders if he’s gone over the brink, too far to ever return. His voice is little more than a rasp as he addresses his reflection.
“Reid is dead.”
He tells himself that this is indisputable. That the message is not real. That he must be going crazy, the alcohol seeping so deeply into his flesh and blood and bones that it’s rotting his mind.
Reid is dead. He’s gone. His body was taken apart, stripped for parts. He is nothing but ash in the depths of the pond, and beneath a pillar of concrete.
Luke opens the medicine cabinet and begins the ritual. The bottle lids are stubborn, and his fingers inadequate. When he finally has the line-up in place, he reaches for the first two pills and holds them over the waiting toilet.
Find me.
Before he knows what’s happening, the capsules are in his mouth. He fills his glass with water and swallows, the chipped rim slicing his lip. Luke swallows the other pills in turn, the metallic taste of blood washing them down.
*
He drains the battery on his phone replaying the message all day. He can’t - won’t?- wake up from whatever dream world in which he’s been trapped. The voice, hoarse and desperate, is still Reid’s every time.
As the phone charges, its light blinking, Luke realizes he hasn’t had anything to drink. He’s shaking and queasy and takes a few gulps from a bottle to calm his nerves. In the kitchen, he microwaves some of his grandma’s lasagne. He’s not sure it’ll stay down, but remarkably, it does.
By the time the battery is recharged, the sun has long set. Luke spends the night by the upstairs window, listening to the four words over and over. He wakes after dawn, shivering on the floor, phone still clutched in his hand.
In the bathroom, he lines up his medicine and stares at the little capsules. Then he has to go back out to get his phone and listen again. Since he still can’t seem to wake up, he returns to swallow his pills, although he thinks it might be too late already.
He has a drink to calm himself as he waits until nine o’clock to call. Perched on the side of his bed, he hits Alison’s number in his contact list. She picks up after the third ring. “Luke? It’s so good to hear from you! How are you?”
He can’t muster a performance this morning. “Alison, I need to ask you something.”
“Sure. Anything.” The lightness has vanished from her tone.
“You were there. When they took…everything from Reid. Right?”
“Oh, Luke.”
“Please. Just answer me.”
“Yes. I was there.”
He should feel relieved; instead nausea roils in his gut. “You saw everything. You saw them take him apart.” He has to take a deep breath to steady himself, to blot out the memories of Reid, bloody and battered and irretrievable.
“Sweetie…”
Luke can imagine her face pinching in concern. “I need to know.”
“Yes, I was there when they harvested his heart. It was like I told you before. He didn’t feel any pain, Luke. He was already gone.”
Luke has to take a few seconds before he can speak again. “Thank you. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“You could never be a bother. Casey and I miss you so much. You should come to visit. Will and Gwen would love to see you, too. We all keep you in our thoughts, Luke.”
“Thanks. Yeah, I’d love to visit sometime.” Luke dutifully reads his lines, but something niggles at his mind. “You said you were there when they took his heart. What about the rest?”
There’s a pause. “Well, no, there was another transplant team for his other organs and tissue. But Luke, I promise you they were equally respectful. You don’t need to worry.”
His pulse increases, and an unfamiliar sensation uncoils in his belly. “Who were they? Where were they from?”
“Luke-”
“I need to know. Can you find out? Maybe you can call one of your friends at Memorial and they can check the records.”
“Do you think this will help you let go?”
“Yes,” he lies. “Please, Alison.”
She sighs. “Okay. I’ll call my friend Gretchen and see if she’s on duty. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”
Luke paces in front of the window, walking from one end of the room to the other. He checks the bars on the phone’s display every few seconds to make sure there’s still a signal. When it finally rings an hour later, he almost drops it in his hurry to answer. “Was she there?”
“Yeah. But I’m sorry, Luke. She checked the computer and the filing cabinets. There’s no record of which hospital harvested the rest of Reid’s body. There must have been a filing mix-up somehow. It’s strange, since I know how carefully these things are recorded. Gretchen even went down to the basement to see if anything had been misfiled. But she couldn’t find anything. She was working that day, so I asked if she remembered where they were from. But they never said.”
“Do you remember what they looked like?”
“They wore surgical masks. But even if I could remember their faces, it wouldn’t help. They could have been from anywhere. Although…now that I think about it, they must have been fairly local.”
“Why’s that?”
“They arrived so quickly. But Luke, none of this matters. He’s gone, and I’m sure everyone he helped with his generosity is very grateful. Didn’t someone at the hospital tell you the other transplants went well?”
“Yeah. Someone called, but they didn’t say who they were.” He hadn’t considered it before, but the details were very vague. He assumed it was due to patient confidentiality.
“I know it’s hard to accept that he’s gone. I can only imagine what you’re going through.”
“Thank you, Alison. I’ll visit soon. Love you.”
He disconnects before she can answer, and tells himself Alison’s right. Reid’s gone. It’s meaningless that the records are missing, or that she can’t remember where the transplant team were from. It doesn’t change anything.
Yet the foreign sensation blooms inside him, a warmth spreading across his chest. He presses a few buttons and listens to the message again. As Reid’s voice fills his ear, Luke finally recognizes the feeling taking hold.
Hope.
*
By midday, Luke has to charge the phone once more. Without Reid’s voice to cling to, he flounders. How will he find him? Where does he begin? Should he call the police? His parents?
Is this how Aunt Meg felt when she descended into madness?
Luke’s asleep again later, exhausted by reality, when someone pounds on the door. He wakes with a gasp, breath frozen painfully in his chest. He almost falls down the stairs, running to the door, praying that somehow this is real, and somehow it is him. He yanks the door open.
“Luciano?” Damian peers at him with concern.
Luke sags against the doorframe, muttering. “You can’t be here. None of this is real.”
Damian removes his black leather glove and presses the back of his hand to Luke’s forehead. “Are you ill?”
Yes. “No.” Luke looks out beyond Damian and sees that the snow is deeper yet on his drive. “How did you get here?”
“I walked from the road.”
Luke looks down, and, sure enough, Damian’s pants and expensive leather shoes are soaked. “You wrecked your shoes.”
Damian takes him by the shoulders. “I don’t care about shoes, Luciano! What’s happened to you?”
Luke is about to launch into his usual spiel about being fine, but the words don’t come. “I…I think I’m going crazy.”
Without another word, Damian propels Luke into the living room and urges him into one of the chairs by the fireplace. He kneels. “I was sorry to hear about Reid. I wish I’d met him.”
Luke finds himself smiling. “He’s the reason you got caught, you know. He saw the x-rays of your supposed body and said the man had Huntington’s. So I knew it wasn’t you. Your brilliant plan exposed.”
“I’m not proud of the things I’ve done, Luciano. I’ve made many mistakes.”
“How are you here?” It all feels so real.
“The charges were dropped yesterday. They released me this morning, and I came straight to see you.”
“Dropped? But you’re guilty.”
Damian smiles ruefully. “Yes, I am. I won’t try to convince you otherwise. I’m truly sorry for my actions, although I won’t blame you for not believing me.”
“You’re always sorry. But nothing ever changes.”
“I want it to be different this time, Luciano. They didn’t have enough evidence to go to trial, and while I’ll freely admit my shortcomings to you…I’m not noble enough to condemn myself to a life in prison. I could not deny myself a second chance.”
Luke knows he should be furious for all the terrible, unforgivable things Damian has done. He should get up and shove him back out into the snow in his ruined shoes, yelling again that Holden Snyder is his only father. But he doesn’t. “How did you know where I live now?”
“One of my assistants keeps me updated. He told me of this man’s death. Your Dr. Oliver.”
Swallowing over the sudden lump in his throat, Luke stands. “You should take your wet things off. You’ll catch a cold. I’ll get you some sweats. They’ll be too small, but…”
Damian smiles so gratefully for this reprieve. “I won’t stay long. I just wanted to see you again. I don’t expect a thing.”
“You can stay for a little while.”
“Thank you, Luciano. I don’t deserve you.”
Luke doesn’t argue.
*
As he crashes to the floor, Luke wakes. He’s still reaching out, desperately seeking Reid in the darkness. He blinks, registering the pain in his hip and shoulder. The house is still, Damian asleep in one of the guest rooms across the hall on the other side of the staircase. He’s the first person Luke has ever permitted to stay the night. He doesn’t know why he’s allowed Damian to slip in, but when night fell, he couldn’t bear to send his father out into the snow for so a long walk.
He knows he should have. He tells himself he still might.
The wind howls, battering the windows, snowflakes whirling wildly. Luke makes his way to the glass, and is taking his phone from the pocket of his flannel pyjama pants when he spots the movement in the shadows near the waterline.
It’s a person. He’s sure of it.
He presses his face right to the window, breath fogging the icy glass as he strains to see. Adrenaline floods his veins and his heart thumps as he scans the trees. There’s another flash of something and Luke’s off, slip-sliding down the stairs in his socks. He bursts outside. “Reid!”
Wading through the snow, Luke stumbles his way towards the trees. “Reid!” He lurches headlong, determination fuelling his steps, ignoring the brutal pain as his nerve endings cry out from the bitter cold. “Reid!”
Snow and ice pellets batter Luke’s skin, and he struggles to move, his body seizing up, his clothing soaked already. He staggers to his knees, gasping for breath, his lungs aching from the freezing air. Squinting into the driving snow, he sees only trees. Reid is waiting to be found.
Luke can’t get up, his legs totally uncooperative now. As he crawls, numbness replaces the overwhelming pain, and he tries to call Reid’s name again. He can only wheeze. Suddenly he’s yanked to his feet, strong arms locked around him.
Damian half carries him back to the house, and Luke is unable to struggle. Damian takes him right upstairs and deposits him on the side of the bed. Once he’s peeled off Luke’s t-shirt, he rubs his skin vigorously, methodically going over Luke’s chest and back, followed by one arm and then the other.
Luke feels like a child for the first time in a very long time, yielding as Damian warms him. After Damian kneels to strip off Luke’s pyjamas and socks, Luke realizes with a bolt of panic that his phone was in his pocket. He grasps for the wet flannel desperately, fingers useless and numb, his heart pounding anew. “My phone, my phone.”
Damian pulls it out and gives it a quick glance before resting it on the bedside table. “It’s fine, Luciano.” He rubs Luke’s legs and feet, paying special attention to Luke’s toes. “Can you feel this?”
Luke winces at the shooting pain in his feet as feeling is restored, and nods. His eyes are glued to the phone. Find me.
“You frightened me very much.” Damian continues chafing Luke’s feet.
Luke’s gaze remains on his phone. He’s afraid to look away. Afraid it’ll disappear and take Reid’s ghost with it. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Damian smacks the wooden floor with his palm, catching Luke’s attention. “Thank God you did! Do you know how quickly you could have frozen to death?”
“That’s not what I wanted.” Or maybe it was. Maybe it is. Become stone and never have to feel again.
Damian takes a breath and blows it out, and when he speaks again, his tone has softened. “There was no one else outside, Luciano.”
Luke doesn’t think he can recognize the truth anymore, but he nods. Reid is dead.
After rummaging through the drawers on the other side of the bed, Damian returns with fresh pyjamas. Luke is boneless as Damian dresses him and rubs his skin again. He tucks Luke into bed beneath the duvet and two extra blankets, but keeps Luke’s hands in his, massaging gently. “You can get frostbite in less than a minute in this temperature.”
“What if he’s out there?”
Damian sighs and brushes back the hair from Luke’s forehead. “Sleep now, cucciolo.”
Luke wants to confess everything, but his eyes are heavy, and he does as he’s told.
*
He wakes feeling warm and safe, sunlight streaming into his room for a welcome change from the unending winter gloom. Even as he remembers, and his stomach twists, the peaceful sensation doesn’t completely evaporate. Damian sits on the floor some feet away, watching him. He leans against the closet door, and Luke knows his father has found what hides inside.
Yet in Damian, Luke can see none of the disappointment he would with Lily and Holden. Perhaps because Damian is in no position to judge.
“Luciano, this can’t go on. You were screaming for him - your lover. But he’s gone, my son.”
Logically, Luke knows this to be true. Reid is dead. His heart beats in another man’s chest. Your lover. Luke closes his eyes for a moment as the wave of regret recedes, and he takes a deep breath. “Will you help me?”
Damian comes to sit on the side of the bed and squeezes Luke’s hand. “Of course. We’ll go to the best place, with the best doctors.”
“There’s something I need to do first. There’s something I need to know.”
“Anything.”
Luke pushes himself up and reaches for his phone. He listens to the message again first to make sure it’s still there, and breathes a sigh when he hears Reid’s ragged voice. Damian says nothing as he listens, and silently returns the phone afterwards. Luke ensures that he saves the message anew before he asks.
“You heard it, right?” His breath is caught in his chest.
“Who was that, Luciano? I don’t think I understand.”
Relief floods Luke. Maybe he’s not as crazy as he feared. “It’s Reid. That’s his voice.” He holds up his hands. “I know what you’re going to say. That it’s impossible. That he’s dead. But I’m telling you, that’s his voice. It’s him.”
Damian seems like he has many things to say, but he simply asks, “Did you look up the number?”
“Can’t. It’s private. I know it’s insane, and I know it’s impossible. But that’s his voice. I need to know where the call came from, and who made it. I need to know.”
Damian squeezes Luke’s shoulder, and his smile is reassuring. “Well then, Luciano, we’ll find out.”
Part three
Ratings vary per chapter, but will go up to NC-17.
Part one
Luke crawls across the floor toward the window. His phone lies near the glass where it spun to a stop after flying from his grip. He jams it against his ear and hears the automated voice repeating a list of options. He carefully presses the number nine to save the message. Then he listens again.
His lungs burn as he struggles for breath, tremors racking his body as Reid - God, it’s Reid - pleads for help. Luke knows this is a dream; that Reid is dead, and this is not his voice. This is not truly happening.
Yet no matter how hard he tries, he can’t wake. He thinks perhaps he’s dying, and the fevered end of his body is warping his mind, twisting his fears and desires into a last nightmare. Leaning his head against the cold glass, eyes closed, Luke concentrates on breathing. In and out. In and out. It cannot be real.
He tries to listen to the message again, but has lost service. Panic flaps its wings and he stumbles to his feet, holding the phone out as he seeks a signal. He almost trips in the pool of vomit by his bed and barely manages to stay upright on the stairs. Shoving his boots on, Luke opens the front door and wades through the snow on the veranda.
The phone flickers to life with one bar, and he dials his voicemail again, bracing against the frigid temperature. Shaking, he listens to the message over and over, wondering when he’ll wake up.
*
Luke’s reflection in the bathroom mirror stares back, eyes wide, dark circles below. Lips crusty with the remnants of vomit. As he stares at himself, gripping the edges of the counter, Luke wonders if he’s gone over the brink, too far to ever return. His voice is little more than a rasp as he addresses his reflection.
“Reid is dead.”
He tells himself that this is indisputable. That the message is not real. That he must be going crazy, the alcohol seeping so deeply into his flesh and blood and bones that it’s rotting his mind.
Reid is dead. He’s gone. His body was taken apart, stripped for parts. He is nothing but ash in the depths of the pond, and beneath a pillar of concrete.
Luke opens the medicine cabinet and begins the ritual. The bottle lids are stubborn, and his fingers inadequate. When he finally has the line-up in place, he reaches for the first two pills and holds them over the waiting toilet.
Find me.
Before he knows what’s happening, the capsules are in his mouth. He fills his glass with water and swallows, the chipped rim slicing his lip. Luke swallows the other pills in turn, the metallic taste of blood washing them down.
*
He drains the battery on his phone replaying the message all day. He can’t - won’t?- wake up from whatever dream world in which he’s been trapped. The voice, hoarse and desperate, is still Reid’s every time.
As the phone charges, its light blinking, Luke realizes he hasn’t had anything to drink. He’s shaking and queasy and takes a few gulps from a bottle to calm his nerves. In the kitchen, he microwaves some of his grandma’s lasagne. He’s not sure it’ll stay down, but remarkably, it does.
By the time the battery is recharged, the sun has long set. Luke spends the night by the upstairs window, listening to the four words over and over. He wakes after dawn, shivering on the floor, phone still clutched in his hand.
In the bathroom, he lines up his medicine and stares at the little capsules. Then he has to go back out to get his phone and listen again. Since he still can’t seem to wake up, he returns to swallow his pills, although he thinks it might be too late already.
He has a drink to calm himself as he waits until nine o’clock to call. Perched on the side of his bed, he hits Alison’s number in his contact list. She picks up after the third ring. “Luke? It’s so good to hear from you! How are you?”
He can’t muster a performance this morning. “Alison, I need to ask you something.”
“Sure. Anything.” The lightness has vanished from her tone.
“You were there. When they took…everything from Reid. Right?”
“Oh, Luke.”
“Please. Just answer me.”
“Yes. I was there.”
He should feel relieved; instead nausea roils in his gut. “You saw everything. You saw them take him apart.” He has to take a deep breath to steady himself, to blot out the memories of Reid, bloody and battered and irretrievable.
“Sweetie…”
Luke can imagine her face pinching in concern. “I need to know.”
“Yes, I was there when they harvested his heart. It was like I told you before. He didn’t feel any pain, Luke. He was already gone.”
Luke has to take a few seconds before he can speak again. “Thank you. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“You could never be a bother. Casey and I miss you so much. You should come to visit. Will and Gwen would love to see you, too. We all keep you in our thoughts, Luke.”
“Thanks. Yeah, I’d love to visit sometime.” Luke dutifully reads his lines, but something niggles at his mind. “You said you were there when they took his heart. What about the rest?”
There’s a pause. “Well, no, there was another transplant team for his other organs and tissue. But Luke, I promise you they were equally respectful. You don’t need to worry.”
His pulse increases, and an unfamiliar sensation uncoils in his belly. “Who were they? Where were they from?”
“Luke-”
“I need to know. Can you find out? Maybe you can call one of your friends at Memorial and they can check the records.”
“Do you think this will help you let go?”
“Yes,” he lies. “Please, Alison.”
She sighs. “Okay. I’ll call my friend Gretchen and see if she’s on duty. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”
Luke paces in front of the window, walking from one end of the room to the other. He checks the bars on the phone’s display every few seconds to make sure there’s still a signal. When it finally rings an hour later, he almost drops it in his hurry to answer. “Was she there?”
“Yeah. But I’m sorry, Luke. She checked the computer and the filing cabinets. There’s no record of which hospital harvested the rest of Reid’s body. There must have been a filing mix-up somehow. It’s strange, since I know how carefully these things are recorded. Gretchen even went down to the basement to see if anything had been misfiled. But she couldn’t find anything. She was working that day, so I asked if she remembered where they were from. But they never said.”
“Do you remember what they looked like?”
“They wore surgical masks. But even if I could remember their faces, it wouldn’t help. They could have been from anywhere. Although…now that I think about it, they must have been fairly local.”
“Why’s that?”
“They arrived so quickly. But Luke, none of this matters. He’s gone, and I’m sure everyone he helped with his generosity is very grateful. Didn’t someone at the hospital tell you the other transplants went well?”
“Yeah. Someone called, but they didn’t say who they were.” He hadn’t considered it before, but the details were very vague. He assumed it was due to patient confidentiality.
“I know it’s hard to accept that he’s gone. I can only imagine what you’re going through.”
“Thank you, Alison. I’ll visit soon. Love you.”
He disconnects before she can answer, and tells himself Alison’s right. Reid’s gone. It’s meaningless that the records are missing, or that she can’t remember where the transplant team were from. It doesn’t change anything.
Yet the foreign sensation blooms inside him, a warmth spreading across his chest. He presses a few buttons and listens to the message again. As Reid’s voice fills his ear, Luke finally recognizes the feeling taking hold.
Hope.
*
By midday, Luke has to charge the phone once more. Without Reid’s voice to cling to, he flounders. How will he find him? Where does he begin? Should he call the police? His parents?
Is this how Aunt Meg felt when she descended into madness?
Luke’s asleep again later, exhausted by reality, when someone pounds on the door. He wakes with a gasp, breath frozen painfully in his chest. He almost falls down the stairs, running to the door, praying that somehow this is real, and somehow it is him. He yanks the door open.
“Luciano?” Damian peers at him with concern.
Luke sags against the doorframe, muttering. “You can’t be here. None of this is real.”
Damian removes his black leather glove and presses the back of his hand to Luke’s forehead. “Are you ill?”
Yes. “No.” Luke looks out beyond Damian and sees that the snow is deeper yet on his drive. “How did you get here?”
“I walked from the road.”
Luke looks down, and, sure enough, Damian’s pants and expensive leather shoes are soaked. “You wrecked your shoes.”
Damian takes him by the shoulders. “I don’t care about shoes, Luciano! What’s happened to you?”
Luke is about to launch into his usual spiel about being fine, but the words don’t come. “I…I think I’m going crazy.”
Without another word, Damian propels Luke into the living room and urges him into one of the chairs by the fireplace. He kneels. “I was sorry to hear about Reid. I wish I’d met him.”
Luke finds himself smiling. “He’s the reason you got caught, you know. He saw the x-rays of your supposed body and said the man had Huntington’s. So I knew it wasn’t you. Your brilliant plan exposed.”
“I’m not proud of the things I’ve done, Luciano. I’ve made many mistakes.”
“How are you here?” It all feels so real.
“The charges were dropped yesterday. They released me this morning, and I came straight to see you.”
“Dropped? But you’re guilty.”
Damian smiles ruefully. “Yes, I am. I won’t try to convince you otherwise. I’m truly sorry for my actions, although I won’t blame you for not believing me.”
“You’re always sorry. But nothing ever changes.”
“I want it to be different this time, Luciano. They didn’t have enough evidence to go to trial, and while I’ll freely admit my shortcomings to you…I’m not noble enough to condemn myself to a life in prison. I could not deny myself a second chance.”
Luke knows he should be furious for all the terrible, unforgivable things Damian has done. He should get up and shove him back out into the snow in his ruined shoes, yelling again that Holden Snyder is his only father. But he doesn’t. “How did you know where I live now?”
“One of my assistants keeps me updated. He told me of this man’s death. Your Dr. Oliver.”
Swallowing over the sudden lump in his throat, Luke stands. “You should take your wet things off. You’ll catch a cold. I’ll get you some sweats. They’ll be too small, but…”
Damian smiles so gratefully for this reprieve. “I won’t stay long. I just wanted to see you again. I don’t expect a thing.”
“You can stay for a little while.”
“Thank you, Luciano. I don’t deserve you.”
Luke doesn’t argue.
*
As he crashes to the floor, Luke wakes. He’s still reaching out, desperately seeking Reid in the darkness. He blinks, registering the pain in his hip and shoulder. The house is still, Damian asleep in one of the guest rooms across the hall on the other side of the staircase. He’s the first person Luke has ever permitted to stay the night. He doesn’t know why he’s allowed Damian to slip in, but when night fell, he couldn’t bear to send his father out into the snow for so a long walk.
He knows he should have. He tells himself he still might.
The wind howls, battering the windows, snowflakes whirling wildly. Luke makes his way to the glass, and is taking his phone from the pocket of his flannel pyjama pants when he spots the movement in the shadows near the waterline.
It’s a person. He’s sure of it.
He presses his face right to the window, breath fogging the icy glass as he strains to see. Adrenaline floods his veins and his heart thumps as he scans the trees. There’s another flash of something and Luke’s off, slip-sliding down the stairs in his socks. He bursts outside. “Reid!”
Wading through the snow, Luke stumbles his way towards the trees. “Reid!” He lurches headlong, determination fuelling his steps, ignoring the brutal pain as his nerve endings cry out from the bitter cold. “Reid!”
Snow and ice pellets batter Luke’s skin, and he struggles to move, his body seizing up, his clothing soaked already. He staggers to his knees, gasping for breath, his lungs aching from the freezing air. Squinting into the driving snow, he sees only trees. Reid is waiting to be found.
Luke can’t get up, his legs totally uncooperative now. As he crawls, numbness replaces the overwhelming pain, and he tries to call Reid’s name again. He can only wheeze. Suddenly he’s yanked to his feet, strong arms locked around him.
Damian half carries him back to the house, and Luke is unable to struggle. Damian takes him right upstairs and deposits him on the side of the bed. Once he’s peeled off Luke’s t-shirt, he rubs his skin vigorously, methodically going over Luke’s chest and back, followed by one arm and then the other.
Luke feels like a child for the first time in a very long time, yielding as Damian warms him. After Damian kneels to strip off Luke’s pyjamas and socks, Luke realizes with a bolt of panic that his phone was in his pocket. He grasps for the wet flannel desperately, fingers useless and numb, his heart pounding anew. “My phone, my phone.”
Damian pulls it out and gives it a quick glance before resting it on the bedside table. “It’s fine, Luciano.” He rubs Luke’s legs and feet, paying special attention to Luke’s toes. “Can you feel this?”
Luke winces at the shooting pain in his feet as feeling is restored, and nods. His eyes are glued to the phone. Find me.
“You frightened me very much.” Damian continues chafing Luke’s feet.
Luke’s gaze remains on his phone. He’s afraid to look away. Afraid it’ll disappear and take Reid’s ghost with it. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Damian smacks the wooden floor with his palm, catching Luke’s attention. “Thank God you did! Do you know how quickly you could have frozen to death?”
“That’s not what I wanted.” Or maybe it was. Maybe it is. Become stone and never have to feel again.
Damian takes a breath and blows it out, and when he speaks again, his tone has softened. “There was no one else outside, Luciano.”
Luke doesn’t think he can recognize the truth anymore, but he nods. Reid is dead.
After rummaging through the drawers on the other side of the bed, Damian returns with fresh pyjamas. Luke is boneless as Damian dresses him and rubs his skin again. He tucks Luke into bed beneath the duvet and two extra blankets, but keeps Luke’s hands in his, massaging gently. “You can get frostbite in less than a minute in this temperature.”
“What if he’s out there?”
Damian sighs and brushes back the hair from Luke’s forehead. “Sleep now, cucciolo.”
Luke wants to confess everything, but his eyes are heavy, and he does as he’s told.
*
He wakes feeling warm and safe, sunlight streaming into his room for a welcome change from the unending winter gloom. Even as he remembers, and his stomach twists, the peaceful sensation doesn’t completely evaporate. Damian sits on the floor some feet away, watching him. He leans against the closet door, and Luke knows his father has found what hides inside.
Yet in Damian, Luke can see none of the disappointment he would with Lily and Holden. Perhaps because Damian is in no position to judge.
“Luciano, this can’t go on. You were screaming for him - your lover. But he’s gone, my son.”
Logically, Luke knows this to be true. Reid is dead. His heart beats in another man’s chest. Your lover. Luke closes his eyes for a moment as the wave of regret recedes, and he takes a deep breath. “Will you help me?”
Damian comes to sit on the side of the bed and squeezes Luke’s hand. “Of course. We’ll go to the best place, with the best doctors.”
“There’s something I need to do first. There’s something I need to know.”
“Anything.”
Luke pushes himself up and reaches for his phone. He listens to the message again first to make sure it’s still there, and breathes a sigh when he hears Reid’s ragged voice. Damian says nothing as he listens, and silently returns the phone afterwards. Luke ensures that he saves the message anew before he asks.
“You heard it, right?” His breath is caught in his chest.
“Who was that, Luciano? I don’t think I understand.”
Relief floods Luke. Maybe he’s not as crazy as he feared. “It’s Reid. That’s his voice.” He holds up his hands. “I know what you’re going to say. That it’s impossible. That he’s dead. But I’m telling you, that’s his voice. It’s him.”
Damian seems like he has many things to say, but he simply asks, “Did you look up the number?”
“Can’t. It’s private. I know it’s insane, and I know it’s impossible. But that’s his voice. I need to know where the call came from, and who made it. I need to know.”
Damian squeezes Luke’s shoulder, and his smile is reassuring. “Well then, Luciano, we’ll find out.”
Part three