a request and a ficlet
1. I'd love screencaps of Reid&Katie BFF moments if anyone has them. The hug on the couch, their goodbye in Old Town, that sort of thing. It's for a project as well as for my own awwww-ing purposes. Thank you, comeoctober. :)
2. My might-have-been-epic future-fic has been a bit jossed by canon, so I'm not sure I'm ever going to completely finish it. But I hit a section break that seems to be a natural stopping point (nothing unresolved), so I thought I'd post it here to make this a more on-topic, less annoying post. I hope someone enjoys. <3
Title: "C43H66N12O12S2"
Summary: Turns out it's not that hard to "do happy."
Rating: Maybe R, but for dialogue, not actual happy-times. In other words: NSFW language (says the girl posting at work).
the opening interlude (or the forty-second)
Luke's still treading consciousness in his first cup of coffee, eyes unfocused somewhere above Katie's kitchen table, when Reid looks up from his bagel and says, "We need to get our own place."
"We?" Luke asks. He's been trying so hard not to be presumptuous, and now he worries that he missed something.
Reid pretty much ignores him, just adjusts the cuff of his shirt, takes a sip of coffee. "Yes," he answers finally. "I'm tired of your having to bite a pillow when I fuck you."
"Oh."
In less than a week, Luke pays cash on a farmhouse on the edge of town. Reid says something bitchy about Luke's throwing his money around, but Luke can tell he loves the place, all pretty woods and plaster ceilings and the biggest television any man could ever want to watch Coppola on. He puts the keys on the little handcuffs Katie gave him and moves all his belongings the morning after Luke signs the papers. It amounts to two suitcases, a duffel bag, and a cardboard box.
"I just want you to know," Reid says from the back porch, staring out over the land he's pretty sure he now co-owns, "that we are not raising chickens."
Luke smiles and bumps Reid's shoulder. "You have no idea how good eggs can taste until you've had them farm-fresh."
"Eggs are very high in cholesterol."
"Like you care." Luke leans down, stretching his back. "I hope we like it here."
"You will. And if I don't," Reid adds brightly, "I'm sure you'll just buy us a penthouse condominium downtown."
Luke would, yeah.
Reid grins. "Of course, that wouldn't solve the screaming issue."
Luke sighs. "I do not scream."
"You will now," Reid promises.
The little old widow who sold them the house left behind her favorite recipes for the rhubarb patch in the garden before heading off to Florida, and she called them "such nice boys." She was wrong on so many levels, but Luke doesn't exactly care. It's nice not to have to be nice all the time, to be able to save it for the people who actually appreciate it. And as far as being a nice boy? He kind of likes being a slut for Reid, and he knows Reid likes it too.
put on your prettiest dress
At hospital fundraisers and foundation banquets and corporate dinners, they are each other's plus-one. If anyone had a problem with it once, they don't anymore, and Bob Hughes had publicly gone to bat for Reid after a Chicago reporter called him out as a poor role model.
"Because disowned kids who put themselves through medical school are shameful," Reid had retorted upon seeing the article, and when Luke opened his mouth to ask, Reid held up a hand and said, "Pretend I didn't say that, Luke," and he seemed so guarded that Luke simply nodded and stood to check on the pasta, which is as close to a properly cooked dinner as they can scrape together between the two of them.
Food isn't a problem at these events, though, and Reid can overlook his own discomfort with actually owning a tuxedo now when there are copious hors d'ouevres and more expensive alcohol than he allows himself even now.
Tonight's affair is a meet-and-greet for Worldwide's shareholders, and Reid wishes they'd just drop all pretenses and play a proper game of my-portfolio-is-bigger-than-yours. It would save time -- and small talk.
So much small talk.
Reid learned early on that keeping his mouth full of finger sandwiches and petits fours isn't enough to dissuade a dedicated networker, but he's actually amazed sometimes at the stubborn hangers-on.
"I'm trying to think of some way to make you go away without being terribly rude," he finally admits to the pretty twenty-something woman chattering in his ear.
Her smile slips. "You're on the society page, like, every week. I'm just trying to get photographed."
He's about to retort when Luke turns up behind him and lays a hand on his arm. "Who's this?"
She reaches to shake his hand. "Beverly."
The caption reads "and friend" instead.
But the caption that really takes the cake is the morning after the unveiling of the new pediatric oncology ward -- another anonymous Snyder Foundation project, and Reid's unspoken Christmas present from Luke -- when Reid finds a picture of them with a blurb that opens, "Dr. And Mr. Oliver attended."
"Oh man, that is so not cool," Luke complains, suddenly no longer interested in his corn flakes. "We're Mr. and Dr. Snyder if anything."
"Hardly," Reid says dryly, closing the paper.
"I'm the prominent Oakdale citizen," Luke insists. "Lucinda Walsh's grandson and heir apparent."
"It's irrelevant," Reid says. "It's not as if we're ever getting married."
He'll go to work, save two lives, make a nurse cry, and pick up chili and cornbread at Al's on the way home without ever realizing he's said something wrong.
Luke is sitting on their black leather couch that Reid bought as much as a joke as anything, and when Reid says, "Good, you're home, I brought dinner," Luke says, "We need to talk."
"If this is about the newspaper, we'll make them print a correction."
"It's not that," Luke says, and for a moment he smiles that goofy smile that means that Reid has just said something Luke thinks is stupid. Then the smile's gone and Luke just looks tired and sad, like he does when he's sick and Reid leaves him for the hospital. "I just-- I can't do this. I don't know when it happened, god knows I never meant for it to because I know better than to expect, or least I thought I did, but it happened, and now-- I can't be with someone who doesn't love me back. Not again."
"Wow." Reid sits and shakes his head, and he's not dragging this out for dramatic effect or anything, but, "Wow."
"You said that," Luke says miserably.
"You're an idiot," Reid tells him, not for the first time. "I rub your forehead when you're in pain, I bring you alka seltzer at four a.m., I've made a home with you and even feed that ugly horse--"
"Grant is not ugly."
"He is. And I feed him when you're too busy, and I remember your birthday even though I forget my own, and a hundred and one other things, because I do love you."
Luke smiles again, shy this time. "You never said anything."
"Neither did you. I didn't realize I had to."
Luke shakes his head. "It would be nice to hear. Once in a while."
Reid shrugs. "I can do that. This is all pretty new to me, actually caring about someone. I didn't know when would be a good time."
"Whenever," Luke says. "Always."
Reid snorts. "Alright, then. I love you."
"I love you, too. Now what's for dinner?"
Reid laughs, and it's that simple. Nothing really changes, other than a few new whispered words between the sheets, and they go on like two people in love.
2. My might-have-been-epic future-fic has been a bit jossed by canon, so I'm not sure I'm ever going to completely finish it. But I hit a section break that seems to be a natural stopping point (nothing unresolved), so I thought I'd post it here to make this a more on-topic, less annoying post. I hope someone enjoys. <3
Title: "C43H66N12O12S2"
Summary: Turns out it's not that hard to "do happy."
Rating: Maybe R, but for dialogue, not actual happy-times. In other words: NSFW language (says the girl posting at work).
the opening interlude (or the forty-second)
Luke's still treading consciousness in his first cup of coffee, eyes unfocused somewhere above Katie's kitchen table, when Reid looks up from his bagel and says, "We need to get our own place."
"We?" Luke asks. He's been trying so hard not to be presumptuous, and now he worries that he missed something.
Reid pretty much ignores him, just adjusts the cuff of his shirt, takes a sip of coffee. "Yes," he answers finally. "I'm tired of your having to bite a pillow when I fuck you."
"Oh."
In less than a week, Luke pays cash on a farmhouse on the edge of town. Reid says something bitchy about Luke's throwing his money around, but Luke can tell he loves the place, all pretty woods and plaster ceilings and the biggest television any man could ever want to watch Coppola on. He puts the keys on the little handcuffs Katie gave him and moves all his belongings the morning after Luke signs the papers. It amounts to two suitcases, a duffel bag, and a cardboard box.
"I just want you to know," Reid says from the back porch, staring out over the land he's pretty sure he now co-owns, "that we are not raising chickens."
Luke smiles and bumps Reid's shoulder. "You have no idea how good eggs can taste until you've had them farm-fresh."
"Eggs are very high in cholesterol."
"Like you care." Luke leans down, stretching his back. "I hope we like it here."
"You will. And if I don't," Reid adds brightly, "I'm sure you'll just buy us a penthouse condominium downtown."
Luke would, yeah.
Reid grins. "Of course, that wouldn't solve the screaming issue."
Luke sighs. "I do not scream."
"You will now," Reid promises.
The little old widow who sold them the house left behind her favorite recipes for the rhubarb patch in the garden before heading off to Florida, and she called them "such nice boys." She was wrong on so many levels, but Luke doesn't exactly care. It's nice not to have to be nice all the time, to be able to save it for the people who actually appreciate it. And as far as being a nice boy? He kind of likes being a slut for Reid, and he knows Reid likes it too.
put on your prettiest dress
At hospital fundraisers and foundation banquets and corporate dinners, they are each other's plus-one. If anyone had a problem with it once, they don't anymore, and Bob Hughes had publicly gone to bat for Reid after a Chicago reporter called him out as a poor role model.
"Because disowned kids who put themselves through medical school are shameful," Reid had retorted upon seeing the article, and when Luke opened his mouth to ask, Reid held up a hand and said, "Pretend I didn't say that, Luke," and he seemed so guarded that Luke simply nodded and stood to check on the pasta, which is as close to a properly cooked dinner as they can scrape together between the two of them.
Food isn't a problem at these events, though, and Reid can overlook his own discomfort with actually owning a tuxedo now when there are copious hors d'ouevres and more expensive alcohol than he allows himself even now.
Tonight's affair is a meet-and-greet for Worldwide's shareholders, and Reid wishes they'd just drop all pretenses and play a proper game of my-portfolio-is-bigger-than-yours. It would save time -- and small talk.
So much small talk.
Reid learned early on that keeping his mouth full of finger sandwiches and petits fours isn't enough to dissuade a dedicated networker, but he's actually amazed sometimes at the stubborn hangers-on.
"I'm trying to think of some way to make you go away without being terribly rude," he finally admits to the pretty twenty-something woman chattering in his ear.
Her smile slips. "You're on the society page, like, every week. I'm just trying to get photographed."
He's about to retort when Luke turns up behind him and lays a hand on his arm. "Who's this?"
She reaches to shake his hand. "Beverly."
The caption reads "and friend" instead.
But the caption that really takes the cake is the morning after the unveiling of the new pediatric oncology ward -- another anonymous Snyder Foundation project, and Reid's unspoken Christmas present from Luke -- when Reid finds a picture of them with a blurb that opens, "Dr. And Mr. Oliver attended."
"Oh man, that is so not cool," Luke complains, suddenly no longer interested in his corn flakes. "We're Mr. and Dr. Snyder if anything."
"Hardly," Reid says dryly, closing the paper.
"I'm the prominent Oakdale citizen," Luke insists. "Lucinda Walsh's grandson and heir apparent."
"It's irrelevant," Reid says. "It's not as if we're ever getting married."
He'll go to work, save two lives, make a nurse cry, and pick up chili and cornbread at Al's on the way home without ever realizing he's said something wrong.
Luke is sitting on their black leather couch that Reid bought as much as a joke as anything, and when Reid says, "Good, you're home, I brought dinner," Luke says, "We need to talk."
"If this is about the newspaper, we'll make them print a correction."
"It's not that," Luke says, and for a moment he smiles that goofy smile that means that Reid has just said something Luke thinks is stupid. Then the smile's gone and Luke just looks tired and sad, like he does when he's sick and Reid leaves him for the hospital. "I just-- I can't do this. I don't know when it happened, god knows I never meant for it to because I know better than to expect, or least I thought I did, but it happened, and now-- I can't be with someone who doesn't love me back. Not again."
"Wow." Reid sits and shakes his head, and he's not dragging this out for dramatic effect or anything, but, "Wow."
"You said that," Luke says miserably.
"You're an idiot," Reid tells him, not for the first time. "I rub your forehead when you're in pain, I bring you alka seltzer at four a.m., I've made a home with you and even feed that ugly horse--"
"Grant is not ugly."
"He is. And I feed him when you're too busy, and I remember your birthday even though I forget my own, and a hundred and one other things, because I do love you."
Luke smiles again, shy this time. "You never said anything."
"Neither did you. I didn't realize I had to."
Luke shakes his head. "It would be nice to hear. Once in a while."
Reid shrugs. "I can do that. This is all pretty new to me, actually caring about someone. I didn't know when would be a good time."
"Whenever," Luke says. "Always."
Reid snorts. "Alright, then. I love you."
"I love you, too. Now what's for dinner?"
Reid laughs, and it's that simple. Nothing really changes, other than a few new whispered words between the sheets, and they go on like two people in love.