Fic: Speechless
Title: Speechless
Author: G
Genre: Angst, semi-romance, bit of an AU
Characters: Luke/Reid, mentions of Bob, Chris, Noah, and Katie
Rating: R for bad language!
Disclaimer: I own nothing of As the World Turns. No profit. I also own nothing of Lady Gaga's song from which the title of this fic is blatantly yanked. All lyrics used within this fic are hers. :-)
Summary: Luke leaves Reid speechless.
Author's Notes: This fic has no connection to today's episode (or anything that's been going on with Bob on the show, hee!). This is more angsty than my last two LuRe fics, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! I had a ton of fun with this one, 'cause I got to jump into Reid's head! And this whole thing was totally inspired by Lady Gaga's song of the same title. Couldn't resist because I felt the overall tone of the song could fit Luke and Reid. :-) Hope you like! :-D
He sat hunched at the bar with his hand stinging.
The bartender glanced at him again, for the twelfth time that hour. Reid scowled to himself and deliberately wrapped his aching hand around his beer glass, to showcase his torn knuckles and the blood running down the back of his slender hand. He sipped his beer slow and steady, his fresh wound in plain sight of the bartender, then thumped the glass back down on the bar.
The bartender looked prepared to move toward him. Reid cursed silently and promised himself that if the guy mentioned his injury one more time he’d be worrying about more than just Reid staining his precious Stella glasses.
But the guy held his position to Reid’s right, still halfway down the bar, and then turned to greet the newcomers who approached him on the other side of the counter.
Some inane song was blaring from the jukebox, a girl’s grainy yet fluid voice booming from the speakers across the floor at Yo’s, back by the pool tables. Reid tried to tune the lyrics out - and honestly, it was pretty easy to - but the melody of her tone and the accompanying piano saturated him where he sat on his stool at the bar. The song was angry but humble, honest but biting. The song sounded how Reid felt.
There were still three quarters of beer to get through before Reid had to trudge home, and he planned on taking his time with his beverage, even if it led to him pouring the rest of it over the bartender’s head the next time he said something akin to, “Hey man, your hand is bleeding,” like Reid had no fucking clue.
No shit Sherlock, Reid thought scornfully. Somebody give Captain Obvious here a medal.
He swallowed another mouthful of beer and thought about his locker at work. Thought about how underneath his nameplate there was a huge crack and a noticeable dent in the wood, just about the size of his fist. He could still feel the splinters that pierced his skin whenever he flexed his fingers.
Luke had come to see him. Had come to work to see him, because apparently neurosurgeons don’t need to be able to concentrate on their jobs. Neurosurgeons don’t need to have peace of mind. Neurosurgeons don’t need to be loved.
Reid sighed bitterly over the countertop on which he rested one elbow. On other days, he had been overjoyed to see Luke’s figure walking into the locker room. On other days, they’d shared a kiss or two there. On other days, Luke had told Reid that he had strong feelings for him.
But today, Luke had said and done nothing like the days of the past. Today, Luke said it was over. Done. And then Luke was gone.
Reid took another mouthful of beer, letting the chilled bittersweet liquid roll over his tongue for a moment. Today, Luke had finally made up his mind. And his choice had nothing to do with Reid.
It had nothing to do with Noah, either, but Reid supposed that had been an easy decision, considering Noah wanted nothing to do with Luke anymore. But instead of Luke using that and taking the initiative, he chickened out.
Of course, in Luke’s world, “chickened out” meant “needing time to himself”. It also meant that Reid Oliver was now stuck in Oakhell for nothing. There was no reason for him to be here anymore, but he was stuck. Tied to the Snyder Pavilion.
Reid scoffed into his glass. How ironic.
Once upon a time, Reid would have just walked out. Left Memorial. Flew back to Dallas. The wing allowed him more prestige than before and an increase in salary, but those things were either something he already had, or something he most definitely could live without. Once upon a time, Reid wouldn’t have cared what kind of mess he left in his wake as he disappeared. But that was before Oakhell and its damned attractions had changed him.
And now, here he was. At Yo’s, drowning himself in beer. Not a bad way to end a day, he thought sarcastically. However, the dumbass bartender was right - his hand was still bleeding, and the son of a bitch hurt. Reid studied it for a moment; studied the long scrapes split open on his knuckles, the trickle of blood still oozing between his fingers. As many times as Luke had questioned Reid about or stopped him from damaging his hands, Luke ended up being the only instance in which Reid had actually damaged them. On purpose.
Not to end his career, of course. Reid wasn’t that ridiculously lovesick. But he was majorly pissed off - at himself, at his situation - and he wanted to feel the pain. Really feel it. Draw it from inside and let it slowly seep out like the smoke winding up from a dying fire. Then maybe he could get some decent perspective and put his life back on track.
“Hey man, you know your-“
Reid’s head snapped up from his hand and the bartender backed off with one glance from him. The bartender put his hands in the air, a quiet surrender, and didn’t look back in Reid’s direction as he turned away. Reid sighed into his glass and took another sip of beer.
Hey man, you know your love life is fucked. So was life here in this shitty small town where everyone was up in everyone else’s business. No doubt Bob had already set about fixing Reid’s locker door. The Chief of Staff hadn’t had a clue what was going on in Reid’s life before today, but guaranteed tomorrow morning he’d try to offer Reid some kind of comforting advice, some kind of better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all bullshit. And Doogie Hughes would probably be in on the gig, too. Then maybe the three of them could hold hands and sing Kum Bah Yah afterward. All things considered, that’d probably be the least awkward of anything that took place between the three of them following Bob’s words of wisdom on life and love.
Reid swigged a huge mouthful to dull the sick burn at the thought of Doogie’s evil grin plastered on his face while Reid undoubtedly fidgeted through Bob’s “advice”. He wouldn’t be able to live it down, if indeed it happened. Of that he was sure.
The girl crooning from the jukebox hit a lull in her song, her lyrics drawn out and pitiable, sorrowful. She sang of piecrust promises and of never writing another song again. Never speaking again. Never loving again.
Reid finished his beer off and thunked his glass back on the countertop. Ironic how one heartsick girl spent an entire song talking about how she’d never talk again. He tossed his cash on the bar, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door. The song ended with a question that left Reid thinking about Luke all the way back to the hospital.
He had been pretty silent, and that was a big warning sign that something was bothering Luke Snyder. The kid could talk the ears off a cornfield. But today, in the locker room, he had said very little. But it had been enough to send Reid’s sincerely hard work plummeting to the floor.
And who could argue with that? What was Reid going to do, get down on one knee? He couldn’t argue with the way Luke felt. He couldn’t convince him to feel otherwise. The feelings for Reid were right there - right there - but they kept Luke away from him. Luke was torn between loving Noah and wanting to be with Reid, and in the end, he chose neither. He only wanted himself.
He reminded Reid of…Reid. Somehow, in some odd twist of fate that was certainly laughing in Reid’s face, they had switched places. Reid was the one craving someone more meaningful in his life, and Luke was the one only caring about himself.
But Reid couldn’t hate him. He tried. He tried being angry with Luke, but it didn’t work. It didn’t work because there was a small part of him that understood Luke’s decision, and there was a small part of him that was happy for Luke, because it meant that he didn’t have to see Luke’s tortured expression anymore. Luke didn’t have to feel tortured anymore.
Damn that Luke Snyder. Damn him to hell.
The ER doctor’s name was June, or Jill, or some other name that Reid didn’t bother to care about. She brought him back behind a curtain and when she asked what happened, Reid simply looked at her. If she didn’t know, then she was most likely the only one in Oakhell who hadn’t heard the news, and she had to find out for herself then. He wasn’t just going to blurt out his own pathetic headline: Dr. Oliver gets dumped at work, story at eleven. He wished he could have fixed his own damn hand, because he was sick of her inquisitive stare after only a second of it.
She let the rest of her questions go and stitched Reid up in silence. When she tried to give him instructions on how to care for the wound, he unconcernedly waved her off and left the ER without looking back.
At Katie’s, he didn’t eat. She tried to ask him how his day went, carefully tiptoeing around anything that pertained to Luke, but she got no verbal answers. She offered him her idea of comfort food to help ease the pain of his hand, but he ignored it. She invited him to join her for a walk around the neighborhood, to “clear his head”, but he didn’t take her up on it. Finally, Reid got up from the couch and went into his bedroom. He loved Katie, but one more minute with her and he was going to hurt something. He didn’t want her feelings to end up on his chopping block, not tonight. He couldn’t promise that he’d refrain from saying something he wouldn’t able to take back later. And Katie didn’t deserve that.
Instead he snagged his favorite pillow off her couch and stalked to his bed with it, where he forced himself to stretch out on his mattress and get some sleep. Maybe neurosurgeons, as well as heartsick girls, didn’t need to have someone. Maybe they didn’t need to speak again. And maybe they didn’t need to be loved, either.
Oh, boy, you’ve left me speechless…
You’ve left me speechless…
So speechless…
Author: G
Genre: Angst, semi-romance, bit of an AU
Characters: Luke/Reid, mentions of Bob, Chris, Noah, and Katie
Rating: R for bad language!
Disclaimer: I own nothing of As the World Turns. No profit. I also own nothing of Lady Gaga's song from which the title of this fic is blatantly yanked. All lyrics used within this fic are hers. :-)
Summary: Luke leaves Reid speechless.
Author's Notes: This fic has no connection to today's episode (or anything that's been going on with Bob on the show, hee!). This is more angsty than my last two LuRe fics, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! I had a ton of fun with this one, 'cause I got to jump into Reid's head! And this whole thing was totally inspired by Lady Gaga's song of the same title. Couldn't resist because I felt the overall tone of the song could fit Luke and Reid. :-) Hope you like! :-D
He sat hunched at the bar with his hand stinging.
The bartender glanced at him again, for the twelfth time that hour. Reid scowled to himself and deliberately wrapped his aching hand around his beer glass, to showcase his torn knuckles and the blood running down the back of his slender hand. He sipped his beer slow and steady, his fresh wound in plain sight of the bartender, then thumped the glass back down on the bar.
The bartender looked prepared to move toward him. Reid cursed silently and promised himself that if the guy mentioned his injury one more time he’d be worrying about more than just Reid staining his precious Stella glasses.
But the guy held his position to Reid’s right, still halfway down the bar, and then turned to greet the newcomers who approached him on the other side of the counter.
Some inane song was blaring from the jukebox, a girl’s grainy yet fluid voice booming from the speakers across the floor at Yo’s, back by the pool tables. Reid tried to tune the lyrics out - and honestly, it was pretty easy to - but the melody of her tone and the accompanying piano saturated him where he sat on his stool at the bar. The song was angry but humble, honest but biting. The song sounded how Reid felt.
There were still three quarters of beer to get through before Reid had to trudge home, and he planned on taking his time with his beverage, even if it led to him pouring the rest of it over the bartender’s head the next time he said something akin to, “Hey man, your hand is bleeding,” like Reid had no fucking clue.
No shit Sherlock, Reid thought scornfully. Somebody give Captain Obvious here a medal.
He swallowed another mouthful of beer and thought about his locker at work. Thought about how underneath his nameplate there was a huge crack and a noticeable dent in the wood, just about the size of his fist. He could still feel the splinters that pierced his skin whenever he flexed his fingers.
Luke had come to see him. Had come to work to see him, because apparently neurosurgeons don’t need to be able to concentrate on their jobs. Neurosurgeons don’t need to have peace of mind. Neurosurgeons don’t need to be loved.
Reid sighed bitterly over the countertop on which he rested one elbow. On other days, he had been overjoyed to see Luke’s figure walking into the locker room. On other days, they’d shared a kiss or two there. On other days, Luke had told Reid that he had strong feelings for him.
But today, Luke had said and done nothing like the days of the past. Today, Luke said it was over. Done. And then Luke was gone.
Reid took another mouthful of beer, letting the chilled bittersweet liquid roll over his tongue for a moment. Today, Luke had finally made up his mind. And his choice had nothing to do with Reid.
It had nothing to do with Noah, either, but Reid supposed that had been an easy decision, considering Noah wanted nothing to do with Luke anymore. But instead of Luke using that and taking the initiative, he chickened out.
Of course, in Luke’s world, “chickened out” meant “needing time to himself”. It also meant that Reid Oliver was now stuck in Oakhell for nothing. There was no reason for him to be here anymore, but he was stuck. Tied to the Snyder Pavilion.
Reid scoffed into his glass. How ironic.
Once upon a time, Reid would have just walked out. Left Memorial. Flew back to Dallas. The wing allowed him more prestige than before and an increase in salary, but those things were either something he already had, or something he most definitely could live without. Once upon a time, Reid wouldn’t have cared what kind of mess he left in his wake as he disappeared. But that was before Oakhell and its damned attractions had changed him.
And now, here he was. At Yo’s, drowning himself in beer. Not a bad way to end a day, he thought sarcastically. However, the dumbass bartender was right - his hand was still bleeding, and the son of a bitch hurt. Reid studied it for a moment; studied the long scrapes split open on his knuckles, the trickle of blood still oozing between his fingers. As many times as Luke had questioned Reid about or stopped him from damaging his hands, Luke ended up being the only instance in which Reid had actually damaged them. On purpose.
Not to end his career, of course. Reid wasn’t that ridiculously lovesick. But he was majorly pissed off - at himself, at his situation - and he wanted to feel the pain. Really feel it. Draw it from inside and let it slowly seep out like the smoke winding up from a dying fire. Then maybe he could get some decent perspective and put his life back on track.
“Hey man, you know your-“
Reid’s head snapped up from his hand and the bartender backed off with one glance from him. The bartender put his hands in the air, a quiet surrender, and didn’t look back in Reid’s direction as he turned away. Reid sighed into his glass and took another sip of beer.
Hey man, you know your love life is fucked. So was life here in this shitty small town where everyone was up in everyone else’s business. No doubt Bob had already set about fixing Reid’s locker door. The Chief of Staff hadn’t had a clue what was going on in Reid’s life before today, but guaranteed tomorrow morning he’d try to offer Reid some kind of comforting advice, some kind of better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all bullshit. And Doogie Hughes would probably be in on the gig, too. Then maybe the three of them could hold hands and sing Kum Bah Yah afterward. All things considered, that’d probably be the least awkward of anything that took place between the three of them following Bob’s words of wisdom on life and love.
Reid swigged a huge mouthful to dull the sick burn at the thought of Doogie’s evil grin plastered on his face while Reid undoubtedly fidgeted through Bob’s “advice”. He wouldn’t be able to live it down, if indeed it happened. Of that he was sure.
The girl crooning from the jukebox hit a lull in her song, her lyrics drawn out and pitiable, sorrowful. She sang of piecrust promises and of never writing another song again. Never speaking again. Never loving again.
Reid finished his beer off and thunked his glass back on the countertop. Ironic how one heartsick girl spent an entire song talking about how she’d never talk again. He tossed his cash on the bar, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door. The song ended with a question that left Reid thinking about Luke all the way back to the hospital.
He had been pretty silent, and that was a big warning sign that something was bothering Luke Snyder. The kid could talk the ears off a cornfield. But today, in the locker room, he had said very little. But it had been enough to send Reid’s sincerely hard work plummeting to the floor.
And who could argue with that? What was Reid going to do, get down on one knee? He couldn’t argue with the way Luke felt. He couldn’t convince him to feel otherwise. The feelings for Reid were right there - right there - but they kept Luke away from him. Luke was torn between loving Noah and wanting to be with Reid, and in the end, he chose neither. He only wanted himself.
He reminded Reid of…Reid. Somehow, in some odd twist of fate that was certainly laughing in Reid’s face, they had switched places. Reid was the one craving someone more meaningful in his life, and Luke was the one only caring about himself.
But Reid couldn’t hate him. He tried. He tried being angry with Luke, but it didn’t work. It didn’t work because there was a small part of him that understood Luke’s decision, and there was a small part of him that was happy for Luke, because it meant that he didn’t have to see Luke’s tortured expression anymore. Luke didn’t have to feel tortured anymore.
Damn that Luke Snyder. Damn him to hell.
The ER doctor’s name was June, or Jill, or some other name that Reid didn’t bother to care about. She brought him back behind a curtain and when she asked what happened, Reid simply looked at her. If she didn’t know, then she was most likely the only one in Oakhell who hadn’t heard the news, and she had to find out for herself then. He wasn’t just going to blurt out his own pathetic headline: Dr. Oliver gets dumped at work, story at eleven. He wished he could have fixed his own damn hand, because he was sick of her inquisitive stare after only a second of it.
She let the rest of her questions go and stitched Reid up in silence. When she tried to give him instructions on how to care for the wound, he unconcernedly waved her off and left the ER without looking back.
At Katie’s, he didn’t eat. She tried to ask him how his day went, carefully tiptoeing around anything that pertained to Luke, but she got no verbal answers. She offered him her idea of comfort food to help ease the pain of his hand, but he ignored it. She invited him to join her for a walk around the neighborhood, to “clear his head”, but he didn’t take her up on it. Finally, Reid got up from the couch and went into his bedroom. He loved Katie, but one more minute with her and he was going to hurt something. He didn’t want her feelings to end up on his chopping block, not tonight. He couldn’t promise that he’d refrain from saying something he wouldn’t able to take back later. And Katie didn’t deserve that.
Instead he snagged his favorite pillow off her couch and stalked to his bed with it, where he forced himself to stretch out on his mattress and get some sleep. Maybe neurosurgeons, as well as heartsick girls, didn’t need to have someone. Maybe they didn’t need to speak again. And maybe they didn’t need to be loved, either.
Oh, boy, you’ve left me speechless…
You’ve left me speechless…
So speechless…