fic: a good surgeon
title: a good surgeon
author: inflowers
summary: They say the devil is in the details.
“A good surgeon must have an eagles eye, a lions heart, and a lady's hand.”
Eagle eye, n: the ability or tendency to observe closely or pay attention to detail.
They say the devil is in the details.
Reid disagrees.
He's all about the details. He wants to commit them all to memory and erect monuments to the details of his life with Luke, because it's in the finer points that he finds the most comfort.
The way Luke's breath hitches in his throat every time Reid comes near him, and the way he can tell because he notices that Luke has to consciously remind himself to breathe. The way they can be so close to each other, without even touching, and Reid can feel the heat between them. It feels like lightning, like being struck with a bolt of something right.
And the sounds, the sounds that Luke can make are almost criminal. They're torture, but they're the best kind of torture Reid could ever imagine. He wonders sometimes how stupid anyone could have ever been to let Luke go, if only for the way his hair sticks across his face in sweat and his cheeks flush deep crimson. That's reason enough, and each time Reid is more and more convinced that Noah must have had some serious brain damage even before his surgery.
He mentally reminds himself to look into it, but another look at Luke sprawled naked and waiting across his bed, and all thoughts of Noah and medicine are swept away.
Lion's heart, n: a frank courageous heart, triumphed over pain
He's no stranger to pain.
Neither is Luke.
They've both had their fair share of heartbreaks and devastations, and while Reid recognises that his pain doesn't come close to the kind of disaster that Luke has felt, he's conscious that it's there. Underneath the surface, festering quietly. Because he's never dealt with it, never acknowledged that it really exists and that it really affects him.
He doesn't have time for his own pain, when all day he's faced with the reality of others.
But it's not as though he minds, because he can handle other peoples pain. He can handle their doubts, their frustrations, their questions and their why's. Even when he has no answers, even when he feebly tells them that sometimes these things just happen - he can deal with it.
And he can deal with Luke's pain too, whenever something goes wrong, someone hurts him, he hurts himself, his body starts to reject itself - Reid can deal with that. It's what he does, he's a fixer and a healer.
He just doesn't know how to fix himself.
Luke tells him that he doesn't need fixing, that he's perfect just the way he is. And Reid, while touched by Luke caring about him in spite of himself, knows that it's just placation.
If he were a religious man, he would pray for courage. To love Luke the way he deserves it, and to be the man that he wants to be outside the operating room. But he's not, knowing that there's nothing out there in the great beyond but stars and space shuttles, so he allows himself to hope instead. To hope that while he's not the bravest man he could be, he's got enough left in him to fight for the both of them and stay afloat despite his own pain.
That he's strong enough to triumph, not just in surgery but in his own life. It's the hope that really gets him through it.
It makes him a better surgeon, and a better man.
Lady's hand, n: a gentle and precise touch, tender and understanding in it's methods
Touch is Reid's favourite sense. He has a profound understanding of all five, of their specific counterparts in the brain and how the tiniest injury can permanently alter one or all. He's seen people lose and helped restore their sense of smell, taste, hearing and sight - but touch is still his favourite.
Perhaps it's because as a child he was never touched by anyone. His parents, distant at best and cruel at worst never hugged him, never held his hand crossing the street and never kissed him before he went to sleep at night. He got over it, eventually. In his teenage years he found touch in other ways, from innocent handshakes to heavy groping in the backseat of cars with strangers and best friends and college roommates.
It didn't matter what or who he was touching, he revelled in the physical sensation of it. Of skin moving underneath his fingertips, of leaving his fingerprints on another's flesh. So there were girls and there were boys, none of whom ever meant anything to him but all left their fingerprints on Reid.
But he finds a new passion for the sense of touch when he meets Luke.
Even from their first handshake, Reid feels that touching Luke is different from anyone else he's ever put his hands on.
And when Luke finally realises that Reid isn't going anywhere, and drags him by the collar of his shirt into Reid's bedroom, they both discover just how incredible touching is.
Because touching leads to stroking, pushing, pulling, moving, writhing, being.
Luke has one leg hooked up and pushing against Reid's shoulder.
Reid is grabbing at his foot and holding it in place, stroking the bottom of it and pushing his thumb into the arch as he pushes himself into Luke. They're moving in the same rhythm, Luke matching his pace with his eyes screwing tightly closed and opening as if he's not even thinking about it.
“Do it.” Luke whispers, pleading with Reid. “Just do it.” And he does, over and over.
He's not sure he's ever going to be able to stop, not now that he knows the way touch is supposed to feel.
Reid is a surgeon, and Luke is a writer.
Where Luke tells Reid that he loves him in words and notes and scrawls in handwriting - Reid uses his eyes, his heart, his hands.
They might be speaking different languages, but they're telling the same story.
author: inflowers
summary: They say the devil is in the details.
“A good surgeon must have an eagles eye, a lions heart, and a lady's hand.”
Eagle eye, n: the ability or tendency to observe closely or pay attention to detail.
They say the devil is in the details.
Reid disagrees.
He's all about the details. He wants to commit them all to memory and erect monuments to the details of his life with Luke, because it's in the finer points that he finds the most comfort.
The way Luke's breath hitches in his throat every time Reid comes near him, and the way he can tell because he notices that Luke has to consciously remind himself to breathe. The way they can be so close to each other, without even touching, and Reid can feel the heat between them. It feels like lightning, like being struck with a bolt of something right.
And the sounds, the sounds that Luke can make are almost criminal. They're torture, but they're the best kind of torture Reid could ever imagine. He wonders sometimes how stupid anyone could have ever been to let Luke go, if only for the way his hair sticks across his face in sweat and his cheeks flush deep crimson. That's reason enough, and each time Reid is more and more convinced that Noah must have had some serious brain damage even before his surgery.
He mentally reminds himself to look into it, but another look at Luke sprawled naked and waiting across his bed, and all thoughts of Noah and medicine are swept away.
Lion's heart, n: a frank courageous heart, triumphed over pain
He's no stranger to pain.
Neither is Luke.
They've both had their fair share of heartbreaks and devastations, and while Reid recognises that his pain doesn't come close to the kind of disaster that Luke has felt, he's conscious that it's there. Underneath the surface, festering quietly. Because he's never dealt with it, never acknowledged that it really exists and that it really affects him.
He doesn't have time for his own pain, when all day he's faced with the reality of others.
But it's not as though he minds, because he can handle other peoples pain. He can handle their doubts, their frustrations, their questions and their why's. Even when he has no answers, even when he feebly tells them that sometimes these things just happen - he can deal with it.
And he can deal with Luke's pain too, whenever something goes wrong, someone hurts him, he hurts himself, his body starts to reject itself - Reid can deal with that. It's what he does, he's a fixer and a healer.
He just doesn't know how to fix himself.
Luke tells him that he doesn't need fixing, that he's perfect just the way he is. And Reid, while touched by Luke caring about him in spite of himself, knows that it's just placation.
If he were a religious man, he would pray for courage. To love Luke the way he deserves it, and to be the man that he wants to be outside the operating room. But he's not, knowing that there's nothing out there in the great beyond but stars and space shuttles, so he allows himself to hope instead. To hope that while he's not the bravest man he could be, he's got enough left in him to fight for the both of them and stay afloat despite his own pain.
That he's strong enough to triumph, not just in surgery but in his own life. It's the hope that really gets him through it.
It makes him a better surgeon, and a better man.
Lady's hand, n: a gentle and precise touch, tender and understanding in it's methods
Touch is Reid's favourite sense. He has a profound understanding of all five, of their specific counterparts in the brain and how the tiniest injury can permanently alter one or all. He's seen people lose and helped restore their sense of smell, taste, hearing and sight - but touch is still his favourite.
Perhaps it's because as a child he was never touched by anyone. His parents, distant at best and cruel at worst never hugged him, never held his hand crossing the street and never kissed him before he went to sleep at night. He got over it, eventually. In his teenage years he found touch in other ways, from innocent handshakes to heavy groping in the backseat of cars with strangers and best friends and college roommates.
It didn't matter what or who he was touching, he revelled in the physical sensation of it. Of skin moving underneath his fingertips, of leaving his fingerprints on another's flesh. So there were girls and there were boys, none of whom ever meant anything to him but all left their fingerprints on Reid.
But he finds a new passion for the sense of touch when he meets Luke.
Even from their first handshake, Reid feels that touching Luke is different from anyone else he's ever put his hands on.
And when Luke finally realises that Reid isn't going anywhere, and drags him by the collar of his shirt into Reid's bedroom, they both discover just how incredible touching is.
Because touching leads to stroking, pushing, pulling, moving, writhing, being.
Luke has one leg hooked up and pushing against Reid's shoulder.
Reid is grabbing at his foot and holding it in place, stroking the bottom of it and pushing his thumb into the arch as he pushes himself into Luke. They're moving in the same rhythm, Luke matching his pace with his eyes screwing tightly closed and opening as if he's not even thinking about it.
“Do it.” Luke whispers, pleading with Reid. “Just do it.” And he does, over and over.
He's not sure he's ever going to be able to stop, not now that he knows the way touch is supposed to feel.
Reid is a surgeon, and Luke is a writer.
Where Luke tells Reid that he loves him in words and notes and scrawls in handwriting - Reid uses his eyes, his heart, his hands.
They might be speaking different languages, but they're telling the same story.