Outlier, Chapter 5
Chapter 5
What makes Mr. Snyder so fucking special?
He didn’t look at Reid today. They had finally been in the same room - for the latest meeting about the wing, at which were discussed things Reid either already knew or about which didn’t care. Luke sat across the table, his body angled away, his too-long bangs obscuring Reid’s view. He hadn’t realized how he and Luke had developed a habit of meeting eyes every time the architect spoke in circular sentences or the other board members tried to sound as if they knew something about neurosurgery. Each time, Luke would smother a smile, as if he knew exactly how much Reid wanted to open fire. As if he would have enjoyed seeing it.
Not this time. This time, Luke looked through him. When he looked at Reid, when he had to, he didn’t see him.
Reid felt the loss.
And was at an utter loss as to why. For the love of…why on Earth do I care? He’s a fucking child who is no one to me. He’s nothing. I should be rejoicing that he’s finally leaving me alone.
Instead, the squeeze in Reid’s chest had become an ache. Something misshapen and impossibly dense had claimed a corner of his pleural cavity. Luke’s withdrawal had caused physical pain - akin to a death in the family. Which was utterly ridiculous, of course, unless it was the death of a third cousin twice removed whom Reid had never met. But maybe that’s it - maybe he reminds me of a nephew, or a brother…assuming I had any. Maybe he’s like the son I never had (upon first reaching puberty).
No, that definitely doesn’t feel right.
Did Luke remind Reid of his younger self? Unlikely, considering that Reid couldn’t think of one similarity other than male, American, and Homo sapiens. He wouldn’t even have been surprised had phylogenetic analysis revealed that Luke belonged to a distinct subspecies characterized by maladaptive levels of emotionalism and optimism (and insight and empathy). A taxon no doubt representing an evolutionary dead end.
But how else could Reid explain it? Why Reid felt an unfamiliar ease when Luke was around, as if he were a stable pony to Reid’s thoroughbred? And why it was so often accompanied by a paradoxical tension - not an antagonistic one (despite Reid’s best attempts to paint it as such), but rather an awareness, an alertness - as if invisible strings connecting them were pulled taut.
How else could Reid explain why Luke was so often in his thoughts?
Why the fuck am I thinking about him right now?
(Why will I dream about him tonight?)
And Reid did think about him. During rounds was bad enough, but when Reid found himself distracted during surgeries, let alone during happy food time… It was to the point where summoning Luke Snyder’s spirit was as easy as a passing mention of the wing. Or a visit to the Lakeview. Or a drive past the police station. The courthouse. (Any house.) At any time Reid might find himself having to snatch a delinquent thought from wandering too far in Luke’s direction.
And it was slowly driving Reid mad.
The hospital had long since stopped being a safe haven. Not only were thoughts of Luke violating the sanctity of Reid’s work with disturbing frequency, but should the Luke-stimulus ever be present for real - no matter how absorbed Reid might be parsing test results or enlightening a nurse, just the possibility of having heard Luke’s voice would cause Reid’s attention to slip toward the sound like quicksilver from a shattered thermometer. If Luke weren’t, in fact, there, then Reid would deal with the disappointment, the self-disgust, by snapping at the nearest inferior (i.e., anyone). If it had been Luke’s voice - if he were there, real, near - just a glimpse would bring both lightness and leadenness.
And then there was the coffee. Reid waited for it. He told himself that he wasn’t, that each time was an unwelcome surprise, an exasperating intrusion. That he didn’t have an eye on his office door, an ear on approaching footsteps. That he hadn’t stopped buying his own mid-morning coffee in hopes it was a Luke-day. That he wasn’t disappointed other days, days Luke didn’t appear, coffee on offer from extended hand. What had started as a blatant way to butter (or, rather, caramel) Reid up as a prelude to the latest bleeding-heart wing idea had somehow become an unofficial ritual. Luke would find Reid every two or three days, whenever at the hospital for board or medical business (why so often?) or to see one of his infinite assortment of employee or patient relatives. Or to support his…friends.
Of course, upon Luke’s arrival Reid would quickly call up the appropriate degree of grump, accepting the coffee as gracelessly as possible, making it clear that the action was a supreme act of indulgence in direct opposition to his true wishes. He never thanked Luke. Never once tried to get him to stay.
Why do I want him to stay?
There had been no coffee since the surgery. No Luke-days. Not that Reid hadn't known where Luke was, of course - in Noah’s room. By Noah’s side. As acute as the loss was, Reid couldn’t bring himself to face that sight. He found ways to avoid - accidentally, of course - that particular stop during rounds, instead attending to Noah after visiting hours. Neither man ever mentioned Luke’s name.
And so for days Reid had been left with only that memory, that image - of the wreckage he’d left in the hallway after Noah’s surgery. Until the board meeting there had been no fresh encounters to replace the vision that had appeared every time he closed his eyes.
Why do I hurt when he hurts?
And Reid was hurting. He could no longer ignore either the physical manifestation or its direct connection to Luke. Or the fact that it wasn’t just Luke’s physical and emotional absence that was the source of distress, but the knowledge that Reid had hurt him. That he had caused Luke’s light to dim.
And it was slowly killing Reid.
Which brought him back to why. What was it about Luke Snyder? Reid had never before cared where or how his words landed; why start now? Why was Luke...special?
“If it’s not because I’m gay, then what else could it be?”
The data point stared at Reid, challenging him: the physical reaction he’d had when Luke had charged him with homophobia. At first he’d attributed it to the accusation being so laughably untrue. But was it? Fact was, he did treat Luke differently, and not in a good way. There had always been extra venom in Reid’s bites, extra relishing of Luke’s discomfort. And Luke was right - Reid couldn’t blame it all on how he’d been brought to Oakdale. There had to be another theory explaining Reid’s singular behavior when it came to Luke Snyder.
Doth I protest too much?
The scientist in Reid couldn’t let it go. Never the most self-reflective person, he liked not being in control even less. He had to analyze the data. All of them, even the outliers. He also had to accept the results.
Reid was drawn to Luke.
There.
He’d said it.
But drawn to him in what way? As a friend? Reid had never been a friend person. Was this what it was like to want one? Not just as a colleague with whom to pass the time after work or at a conference, but as someone to, what? Bond with? Connect with on a personal level? What did that even mean? Did he want to share secrets with Luke? Braid his hair?
I like the sound of his voice.
Reluctantly, Reid processed the unexpected thought. It was true. Though he liked Luke’s voice best when a smile lilted it (what?), he had to admit it appealed even when strident and whiny. No - best was “Dr. Oliver” said with that gentle impudence. As if he thought he was about to best Reid in some secret game they were playing. At times Reid found himself wondering what his first name would sound like coming from those lips…
Right. Not friendship. Something else. Something…more. But what could be more than friendship?
No. This is where the trail ends.
But how could he stop now? Reid had never retreated from a riddle, had never been intimidated by a diagnosis. He didn’t varnish the truth for his patients - he wasn’t about to start now just because he was the one with the challenging condition. He needed to test every hypothesis, no matter how far-fetched.
In what other way could he be drawn to Luke Snyder?
Am I attracted to him?
Reid sat with that for a moment. Had he ever been attracted to a man? Well, he’d wanted to be Han Solo, and he did feel a certain affinity for Hugh Laurie. And, objectively speaking, some of those male TV ballroom dancers did seem to concentrate charisma in their hips.
But had he ever wanted to kiss one? Or do…other things? Honestly?
No. Not that he could recall, anyway. Not even when it came to those most anything-goes moments - when he’d be by himself, working toward the final release. It was always women. Or the occasional female humanoid alien.
Do I want to kiss Luke Snyder?
Reid made himself picture Luke’s face, his mouth. Those lips. Closing his eyes, he summoned an image of Luke nervously licking them, imagined pressing his own dry lips against Luke’s moistened ones. Their faces close. Luke’s breath on his cheek.
Again, honestly…well, he supposed he had to admit that the idea didn’t entirely repulse him.
Interesting.
But then neither did it hold any particular appeal.
He realized, however, that his mind was lingering. Ah, so looking at his face…that idea does seem to engender pleasure. Perhaps it had something to do with being within looking distance - that inexplicable calm, the comfort that seemed to settle whenever he was in Luke’s vicinity - as if the resonance patterns of their fundamental particles were harmonizing.
But his face - was there something about Luke’s face specifically? The eyes? Luke Snyder did have powerful eyes. With just a glimpse, one could know exactly where one stood - what Luke was thinking, feeling. How much pain he was in. How much love he was capable of. Luke’s eyes could be liquid or solid, warm or cold, absorbing or repelling. They could be limitless space or a black hole. Reid conceded that, at times, he had to remind himself to look away. Other times he would rather look anywhere else. Still others, when Luke’s eyes would be focused on him…when instead of looking through him, they would look in him…
And that hair. That stupid, bleached, too-long hair. He wanted to touch it. Sometimes talking to Luke was a minefield of not staring too much at either eyes or hair. Or mouth. OK, fine, Reid supposed he did occasionally find himself watching Luke’s lips move when he was speaking. Or when he wasn’t. They were very red. And could somehow alternate between surprising fullness and virtual disappearance. And then, in the police station, when those dimples appeared…
“That. Feels. Amazing.”
The feet in Reid’s hands wiggled, pressing into his lap. At the other end of the sofa, Katie’s head was thrown back. “What you can do with your hands.”
Reid tried to focus on the massage, on the present. On Katie. For several minutes the only sounds in the apartment were satisfied ones.
“Hey, Katie?”
“Mmm?”
“You know those politicians? The ones who are all family-first, God-only-loves-some-of-us, legalizing-gay-marriage-means-you’ll-have-to-marry-a-gay-person…”
“Yeah?”
“They usually turn out to be gay, right?”
“Usually.”
“Hmm.”
Katie sat up. “Why? Who got caught soliciting in a men’s room?”
“Down, girl - you can lower the adorable antennae. Just a casual question.”
“Since when do you do the idle chitchat?”
“Since I’ve been trying to learn your human ways.” Reid found a spot that deactivated her muscles; she melted back into the sofa. “I was just thinking how the biggest homophobes tend to be either carefully taught or overcompensating.”
She struggled to lift her head. “Oh, no - don’t tell me someone’s causing trouble for Luke and Noah?”
“What? No, of course not.” (LukeandNoah) “Mere mortals are powerless in the face of their epic love. It would take at least an 18th-level wizard.”
“Nerd-alert. And I thought they’d broken up.”
“And I thought that was always but a temporary state. Figured it was how they kept their relationship fresh.”
“Sounding a little homophobic there, buddy.”
“What?”
“Um, joking. Ow.” Sitting up, Katie withdrew her foot, flexing it gingerly.
“Sorry. Not quite myself today.” He rubbed the back of his hand against his brow.
“Tough case?” She curled against Reid’s side, tucking her feet under her dress.
“Like nothing I’ve seen before,” he murmured, placing an arm around her shoulders. Together they watched muted figures on the television screen race toward a snowy fortress. “We’re friends, right?”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
He turned his head and spoke into her hair. “I didn’t have any trouble letting you in.”
“Okaay…have we been talking to Luke again?”
Reid stiffened. “What?”
Smiling, she lifted a finger to his Adam’s apple. “He just always seems to push your buttons. Did he accuse you of not having any friends? That you’re just using me for sex?” She rose to her knees. “Aww, are you such a gentleman that you’re continuing to let people think you’re defiling me nightly?” She kissed his cheek sweetly. “So gallant.”
“I try.”
“And of course it has nothing to do with the fact that it infuriates Henry.”
Reid cupped the side of her face. “I think only of your reputation.”
“My hero.” Still on her knees, she lifted her dress and straddled his thighs, stroking their length with flat palms. “How about you make an honest woman of me?”
Reid’s systems responded. “Are you…are you saying you’re ready?”
Her hands were at his belt. She leaned forward, breathing into his ear. Her voice slipped inside. “It’s your dream, baby.” Her tongue flicked the silk of his lobe. “Whatever you want.”
The sofa shook. Reid found himself wrapped in Katie, her dress pooled around them, skimming his skin as they rocked in a dimming room. Now on a bed, he sat naked, cross-legged; she sat impaled, legs around his hips, dress gently fluttering. Their torsos flush, arms around backs. Her face pressed into his neck. He looked behind her, into the dark corner of the room.
Where Luke stood.
He was leaning where the two walls joined, hands in pockets, leather bag diagonal across his suit. His face was hidden by hair and shadow, but Reid could feel his eyes. How guarded they were. How cool. The chill skimmed over Reid’s bare skin, raising the flesh.
“Reid? Baby?” Katie had pulled back slightly and was looking down beneath her lifted skirt. To where his softened cock had slipped out and lay surrounded by their soft hair. The bed jolted; their mutual hold tightened. Her fingers grazed his hairline. “Are you okay?”
Reid felt himself growing smaller, sliding into himself, away from her. He kept his eyes on her, willing the connection. He focused on her light face, her light hair - a bright beacon in the darkened room.
“I…I can’t.” Reid’s lips hadn’t moved.
She smiled sadly. “I know.” With one last brush of his brow, she briskly turned on the bed, hiking her skirt as she moved to hands and knees, looking over her shoulder to where Luke stood. “Help a girl out?”
“What?”
“Katie!”
She gave Reid a puzzled look. “What? We’re all friends here.” She smiled at Luke. “Ever wondered?”
Wake up.
Luke’s cool expression had flash-frozen; a blush broke the ice. With a sweet-sad smile, he lifted the bag over his head.
“You don’t have to do this…Mr. Snyder…Luke…” Why won’t my mouth open?
Without looking at Reid, Luke unbelted and unzipped, lowering his pants to his knees. Still grinning, Katie wiggled her exposed bottom.
Wake up.
The shadow had followed Luke, hiding details. Reid tried to close his eyes as Luke slid his hands over the illuminated skin of Katie’s hips. He tried not to see Luke lower one hand into the shadow, grasping himself, guiding. Reid’s eyes wouldn’t close; he watched Luke as he slid inside Katie.
Katie moaned, dropping her head. Luke began to move.
“Ohh, Luke…you feel…ungh.”
Luke’s breathing quickened with his thrusts.
“Mmm, sweetie...who knew you’d be so big?” Her words were whispering, rhythmic. “Bigger…even…than Reid.”
Luke closed his eyes. Reid looked down into his own shadow, at his deflating body, his featureless doll-parts. His flesh flickered, a flash of transparency. He heard a whine of air - looking beside him, he saw a pinprick form in the wall.
Katie’s panting was somehow loud in Reid’s ear. “Luke…Luke…how…does it feel? What…what you expected?”
Reid strained to hear Luke’s answer, to hear his voice.
“Wet. Hot.” It was Luke’s, Reid supposed it had to be, but the voice was slippery, low. There and not there. Reid tilted forward, with the room. He held his breath.
“And…kinda squishy.”
The room righted, briefly. Reid swayed in front of the pinprick; he felt a sucking stream of air against his disappearing skin.
Katie groaned through her smile. “Well, you feel fantastic. Just what I needed…ooh, yeah…just like that…” The bed began to list again. “Ungh…ungh…ungh…Luke…where are we?”
Luke’s bangs were stuck to his skin. Again, his words were dampened, disembodied. “My plane.”
“Oh…oh…oh.” The room shuddered. “Oh!”
Stopping abruptly, Luke dropped his hands and began to back away. “Sorry…the turbulence…”
“No, Luke - it’s okay.” Her smile was luminous as she looked at him under her arm. “We can try that.”
Luke didn’t move.
“Really, I’ve always wanted to…and he’ll never do it.” Looking at Reid, she stuck out her tongue.
What?
Air was emptying from the room, speeding toward the growing hole in the wall, now the size of a coffee bean. Hair on the top of Luke’s head ruffled as he slowly returned to Katie. As he reached for her.
Wake up. NOW.
Luke was moving again, thrusting again, intent and intense. Katie’s head was tilted up, eyes squeezed shut, back bowed. Luke’s figure gradually unfocused, unmooring from the present plane, smudging into a twilight state.
This is wrong.
“I know…but it feels so…ungh, Luke…how are you so good at this? I would have thought…with Noah…”
The Luke-shaped shadow rippled, like an aura vibrating darkly. Reid could barely hear the voice over the intensifying sound of air screaming from the cabin. “We do everything. Every way. All the time.”
Still embedded, Luke’s form coalesced enough for Reid to see him draw a hand from the back of Katie’s neck down the glistening ridges of her spine; he saw Luke lower the hand around and under his own driving hips. He saw Luke’s eyes close, his head falling back as his fingers disappeared. He heard Luke gasp.
Finally, Reid wrenched his eyes shut, forcing his fingers over his ears. Only to realize that he could see through the lids, hear through the hands.
“…if only I had a prostate…”
The hole in the wall engulfed Reid’s chest - a vacuum attachment sucking inward - he could feel brittle bone and skin collapsing like a sinkhole. Reid was resigned - to dematerializing, to being lost to the dream. Now his only wish was for the plane to land.
Where are we even going?
A fully formed Luke looked at Reid. His eyes were clear. Old. His voice was inside Reid’s head.
“You tell me.”
A glowing Katie was in Luke’s arms now, kissing him on the cheek, both of them clothed. Serenely smiling, she reached a hand toward Reid - the air stream reversed, catching him and pushing him toward the pair. Neither seemed to notice his tattered nakedness. Reid and Luke each looked into unobscured eyes - Luke’s eyes weary and wary, Reid’s eyes…what? What was there to show? What was left of him?
White sheets of paper suddenly appeared in the air current, lifting toward the ceiling in a spiraling eddy. Katie captured Reid’s hand. Beaming, she ran her other hand down Luke’s arm, cradling the back of his fingers with her own. She lifted both hands, drawing them closer. Reid’s fingertips tingled.
Just as the hands were about to meet, Katie shouted over the sound of rushing air. “Now it’s your turn!”
“What??”
“Okay.”
Reid couldn’t breathe. He woke with two sheets of paper covering his face. He lifted them, releasing them to the wind filling his bedroom from the open window. He tried to release the dream, but it lay leaden and sharp in his mind. He remembered all of it - the medley of memories. The flight. He remembered Katie’s final words.
He remembered which response had been his.
Author’s Note: Here endeth the het-sex.
(and please keep in mind the cherimola guarantee of a blissfully happy ending)