Numb3rs Fic: Last Forever Fade Away
Posted to numb3rs_fic
Title: Last Forever Fade Away
Pairing/Characters: Charlie, Don, Alan, Larry, Megan, Amita, Stan, OCs
Rating: PG
Spoilers: UP, Structural Corruption, Soft Target, The Running Man
Summary: The Eppes men discover there was more to Margaret's music than they knew
Notes/Warnings: Read the disclaimer on my LJ
Alan knew the work he did as a city planner changed the landscape of the city enough to last into the next century.
He knew Don's work with the FBI made the streets safer for decades with every arrest.
He knew Charlie's mathematical discoveries would be put in books and taught for generations to come.
Alan always thought Margaret's legacy was in her legal work, in her advocacy on behalf of those whom society wanted to forget about, to hide away rather than help.
Once they found out about her music though, he knew that her legacy there would last forever.
+
"Stuart!" Alan's eyes widened in surprise when he opened the door to find his longtime family lawyer standing there.
"Hello, Alan. It's been a while." The old man smiled kindly and shook Alan's hand with his wizened and frail one.
"Come in, come in!" Alan urged, guiding Stuart patiently towards the living room as he slowly shuffled his way to a chair. "When the firm told me they were sending someone over with documents for us, I had no idea it would be you. Sandra told me just a couple of weeks ago you were still out on medical leave. I was glad to hear your bypass operation went well. We were all very concerned."
Stuart lowered himself carefully into the chair Alan proffered. "Thank you, and I appreciated the flowers while I was recovering."
Alan made a jovial sound of dismissal. "It was nothing. You've been representing our family for decades. I just wish I could have done more. So how are you feeling these days? I'm surprised to see you back at work."
"I'm doing all right. I'm not technically back at work although I've stuck my head in the office a few times before my daughter found me and sent me back home." Stuart chuckled as he settled into the chair. "She's doing a great job running the firm. I was worried about retiring early, but I think that was just my pride. I have nothing to worry about."
"You know Margaret always thought Sandra was an exceptional attorney. You really are lucky to have a daughter to hand the firm down to."
Stuart eyed Alan with a knowing smirk. "Don't tell me you wish your sons had followed in your footsteps and gone into city planning?"
Alan shook his head thoughtfully. "No, they came close enough for Margaret and I though. Margaret was a lawyer and Don went into law enforcement. I studied architecture and engineering and Charlie's math is used in those fields often. You know, he's the one who figured out the flaw in the Cole Centre building downtown?"
"Really? I read about them having to retrofit the building for safety because of construction fraud. I had no idea."
"Yes, and Don was the one who uncovered who was behind the fraud and arrested them."
"Well, clearly you have plenty of reason to be proud of your sons, Alan."
Alan nodded happily, beaming with pride. "Yes, I do. My boys have grown up to become exceptional men."
"Speaking of..." Stuart glanced around a bit. "They're not here yet?"
"They should be here any moment. Don phoned to say he's stuck in traffic and Charlie had office hours until 4:30. He said he'd come right afterwards."
Alan was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
"That should be a clerk from my office," Stuart said. "I asked them to send someone with the box of files since they're more than I can carry on my own."
Alan nodded in understanding. "Excuse me." He headed for the front door and returned a moment later with a cardboard file box, which he set on the coffee table.
"While we're waiting for Don and Charlie to arrive, can you at least tell me what this is about?" he asked. "I know you asked us all to be here at once, but I'll admit you got my curiosity going."
Stuart hesitated for a moment, steepling his fingers as he considered the request. "Well, Margaret's instructions were quite clear that I was to tell all of you at the same time. She didn't, however, include any instructions about the contents of the box, other than to turn them over to you at the same time. So legally, I can't really stop you from opening the box and looking inside before I tell you what I'm obligated by contract to tell you."
"That's lawyer speak for 'don't ask don't tell', isn't it?" Alan said, winking.
Stuart let out a bemused chuckle. "Consider it plausible deniability. The box is in your home now. The rest is up to you."
Alan stepped over to the box and put his hands on the lid to remove it. Suddenly a fresh wave of grief washed over him and he hesitated. Margaret had hidden her music from him for decades and although he tried to understand why she would have done that, it still hurt to know there was a beautiful and talented part of her she kept from him.
He took a deep breath and removed the lid from the box, peering inside.
"Oh my..."
+
When Charlie noticed Don's car pulling up, he waited in the front yard so they could go in together.
"Hey, buddy. Sorry I'm late." Don gave his brother an affectionate pat on the arm as they headed in.
"I just got here myself," Charlie said, unconsciously returning his brother's gesture. "Any idea what this is about?"
"No, I'm just as clueless as you are."
"Oh, I doubt that," Charlie said with a chortle.
"Get out of here," Don gave Charlie a playful shove, laughing.
They walked into the house smiling, but their faces fell when they caught sight of their father standing in the living room.
The lines of his face were etched in grief and his posture was withdrawn yet stoic. The brothers recognized the signs independently of each other and both stopped cold. This was their father trying to be strong and that was never a good sign.
"Dad?" Charlie finally choked out.
"Don, Charlie..." Alan beckoned to them, his face relaxing into a slightly strained smile. "Stuart and I kind of got started without you. I'm sorry."
Charlie was the first to greet their old family friend. "How are you feeling, Mr. Weil?"
Stuart shook Charlie's and then Don's hand. "Much better, thank you."
"We were all glad to hear the operation went well," Don offered.
"Yes, the doctors think I'll be around long enough to annoy my grandchildren well into their college years."
"Long enough to talk them into going to law school, you mean?" Alan teased.
"There are other professions?" Stuart joked back. "Just kidding boys," he said to Don and Charlie.
They all settled into seats, Charlie only noticing the box once he saw Don eying it suspiciously.
"Shall we begin then?" Stuart asked.
All three men nodded.
"Well, I know you already were aware that Margaret was an accomplished pianist and composer."
"Yes," Charlie said. "I found a box of her musical compositions including an etude she published under her maiden name, Margaret Mann."
"We did a search," Don explained. "And that was the only piece we found that she published."
Stuart glanced at Alan, then back at Don and Charlie.
"Actually, what I'm here to tell you is that she did publish more. She just published under a different name: Margaret Eppes."
+
The contents of the box were spread out all over the living room: contracts and publishing agreements all over the coffee table, sheet music littering the couch beside Don, CDs in a pile on Charlie's lap and a copy of Piano Concerto in A Minor by Margaret Eppes in Alan's unsteady hands.
"She considered that her masterwork," Stuart said quietly. "Well, that's my word, not hers, but she did acknowledge that that was what she'd been working towards her whole life, that piano concerto."
Charlie looked up from the CDs, wonder in his voice and expression. "So many orchestras recorded her concerto. How could we not know?"
"Well, as I told you earlier, since she put the control of her music into the hands of her agent, there wasn't any need for her to get involved with any of the transactions. Our firm, as her trustee, handled all the arrangements. She just asked that the proceeds be held in a trust fund kept separate from the family finances." Stuart leaned forward and his voice took a softer turn. "I really think she gave the concerto such a plain name so that no one would notice it or trace it back to her. Yes, it's traditional naming, but modern composers are often a bit more colorful with their names these days. She chose not to go that route. I also think she knew she'd never manage to write another one. This one was completed several years before her diagnosis, but somehow I think she was ready for her musical career to draw to a close."
"This was her finale," Charlie said thoughtfully, brushing his fingers over her name on the CD case.
Stuart cleared his throat to subtly get their attention.
"The provisions of Margaret's contract with us in regards to this matter were quite clear. My firm was not to disclose the existence of these materials to her family until after the second anniversary of her death or the birth of a grandchild, which ever came first."
Don and Charlie glanced at each other, perplexed.
"Neither of us is even married, much less having kids," Don said. "And it hasn't been two years yet."
"So why now?" Charlie added.
"There was a provision - fine print that I asked for and she agreed to," Stuart explained. "In the event that there was a good chance you would find out through other means, I was to tell you in advance so that you wouldn't accidentally find out from another source."
"So that's happened then?" Alan asked. "Something's come up?"
"Yes, something I'm very pleased about," Stuart said, brightening, the old man's eyes dancing with excitement. "I would have told you about it sooner, but with the surgery and all I'm afraid the business transactions with Margaret's agent had to be assigned to a junior partner to handle."
Alan waved a hand at him in casual dismissal. "No, I totally understand. What is it?"
Stuart took a deep breath, then said the words in a rush. "Salonen wants it."
"Salonen, as in L.A. Philharmonic?" Alan said, clearly stunned.
Stuart nodded vigorously, a pleased little smile on his face. "I don't know how her agent got him to consider it, since she's not well known at all. All the recordings and performances so far have all been small city and college symphonies. This is by far the most prestigious performance to date, far more than I think even she anticipated."
Don shook his head in disbelief, taking a stunned moment before he spoke. "Wait, you're telling us the L.A. Philharmonic Orchestra is going to be playing our mother's music? Don't they just do Mozart and Beethoven and stuff like that?"
"For their main programs they do, but Salonen wants this for the Green Umbrella series, which focuses on modern and lesser known composers. It's considered quite a coup for a composer to get a slot on his schedule, since he doesn't conduct all the Green Umbrella concerts himself, even if as music director he does choose all the music for the year."
Charlie just sat in silent shock, his hands halted halfway through opening one of the CD cases.
"We'll get to hear her music... I mean live and in person," he murmured in amazement.
Stuart smiled, indulgent. "I've instructed my daughter to secure a block of seats for you. I told her to get twenty, but if you want more, just let her know and she'll arrange them for you. I'm guessing you'll want to invite quite a few people for this special occasion."
Alan nodded, still a bit overwhelmed. He closed the cover on the printed score in his hands, staring at his wife's name on the cover.
"She did all this..." he marveled. A small smile crossed his face as he looked to his sons. "You know, it wasn't that she intended to keep this from us. She just tried to save it until we were ready."
"Two years," Charlie mused. "But I'm glad we didn't have to wait that long to find out."
Don ran a finger across the page of handwritten notation in front of him. "I'm glad too." He looked up and over at the CD in Charlie's hand. "Can we listen to it now?"
All three men turned to Stuart, as if they needed his permission to proceed.
"Of course," he said. "It's what she wanted."
+
Don finished typing up his database query, hit enter and sat back to wait for the results.
Megan watched as his fingers moved across the edge of his desk in what at first seemed to be a random pattern but then proved to be rather rhythmic.
When the printer finished, she picked up her pages, checked them, then slid them into a folder. She walked the folder over to Don's desk and tossed it in his In box before she leaned against the edge, watching him.
Don pulled his hands into his lap abruptly as he turned to her. "What do you need?"
"Nothing," Megan said casually, punctuating it with a little shrug. "Just watching you."
Don eyed her with a crooked grin. "Didn't we already go over you not profiling me at work?"
Megan chuckled, cocking her head at Don's hands. "I was just trying to figure out what all the finger tapping was about, that's all."
Don looked down at his hands thoughtfully for a moment, all humor erased.
"My mom..." he started quietly, "she wasn't just a lawyer. She wrote music too, played the piano."
"Yeah," Megan said, keeping her voice hushed as well. "Charlie told me that before. You must have been very proud of her."
"I didn't know..." Don said. "I mean we didn't know..." He stopped and rubbed the back of his neck for a few seconds. "This is going to sound weird, but basically we just found out that not only did my mom write music, but she's published. Orchestras all over the world have played and even recorded her work."
"Wow," Megan murmured, suitably impressed. "How did you find out?"
"She set up a trust and the family lawyer came to tell us about it because the L.A. Phil is going to perform her piano concerto later this year."
"The L.A. Phil? Salonen?"
"Yeah, can you believe it?" Don shook his head, incredulous. "I was going to tell you guys. We got a block of tickets and if any of you want to go..."
"I do," Megan interrupted. "And I know David and Colby will want to as well, so count us in."
Don gave her a look. "You don't have to go just for me, Megan."
Megan waved him off. "Are you kidding? A family member of someone I know wrote a concerto and the Phil's performing it? How cool is that? Why wouldn't I want to go?"
Don nodded, pleased. "I'll email over the date then."
Megan studied Don a bit more carefully.
"You weren't going to tell us for a while, were you?"
"Honestly? No," he admitted. "It's still pretty raw to me and I wasn't really ready to talk about it at work, you know? But I can't stop thinking about it..." he stared down at his hands, "hearing it in my head and feeling it in my fingers, like I don't want to rest until I've got the main theme down, you know? I want to be able to play what my mother wrote."
Megan smiled in understanding. "It makes perfect sense, Don. So keep it to yourself for now. I won't tell the others and you can ask them when you're ready." She reached down, pulled his hands out of his lap and put them back on his desk. "And keep working on that theme. You'll get it in time."
Don looked up at Megan, his eyes filled with gratitude. "Thanks," he said softly.
Megan gave his shoulder a squeeze as she walked back to her desk and Don turned to his screen as his query results came up.
+
Larry stood in the doorway of Charlie's office, after giving up on knocking, just watching him.
His blackboards were erased - a sure sign he was settling in for a long work session - yet the one he was standing at had just a few lines on it, ending in an expression that remained unfinished.
Charlie stood, chalk raised somewhat but nowhere near the board, with his headphones on and his eyes closed, seemingly lost inside his own head. A contented smile played at his lips and his body moved to a subtle unheard rhythm, head nodding slightly in time.
Larry finally settled into a comfortable chair, both ready to take a break and oddly fascinated by whatever could have torn Charlie from his numbers.
Amita barged in - head down over some papers - and headed for Charlie, but Larry caught her by the arm as she tried to pass and simply shook his head at her. She frowned, but then looked over at Charlie - still in a blissful trance-like state - and then looked at Larry questioningly.
He just shook his head again and waved her to the door. She left, confused, but willingly.
A few minutes later the music must have ended because Charlie finally slipped off his headphones and opened his eyes.
"Larry!" he said, startled. "When did you come in?"
"In the grand scheme of the timeline of the universe, does it really matter?" Larry mused quixotically.
"No, but in my little office it does," Charlie tossed back, his tone friendly. "Why didn't you interrupt me? I didn't mean to make you wait."
Larry rose and headed over to Charlie's desk. "You looked like you didn't want to be interrupted." Larry opened up Charlie's CD player and read off the disc. "New England Philharmonic... Piano Concerto in A Minor... By Margaret Eppes?" Larry looked up at Charlie in shock. "Charles! You never told me..."
"I never knew myself until recently." Charlie took the player back from him, removed the CD and placed it gently back in its case. "We just found out from the family lawyer. Evidently my mother set up a charitable trust so that any proceeds from her music would go to help the causes she fought for in her social work via a couple of non-profits she used to do pro-bono work for."
"That's beautiful, Charles," Larry said sincerely.
"And so is the music." Charlie glanced up at the nearly empty board. "I meant to listen to it while I worked, but once I really started listening I just couldn't think of anything else. There are some really intriguing patterns in her themes," he started to sound excited, "that are rather complex mathematically speaking because she chose to write this in a minor key..."
Larry put up a hand to halt him. "I'm sure they are, but let's save that discussion for after I've heard the piece."
Charlie picked up the CD case possessively, an almost unconscious reaction to the idea of letting it out of his sight.
Larry patted him on the arm reassuringly. "It doesn't have to be now Charles, or even any time in the near future. In fact, why don't you just email me the information and I'll buy a copy for myself." He smiled thoughtfully. "If it has that effect on you, I certainly want to try it myself. There are certainly plenty of times I'd prefer to lose myself in music instead of work."
"Is that how I looked?" Charlie asked. "Lost?"
Larry tapped his index finger against his lips for a few seconds before answering. "Linguistically I would say that that would be the appropriate word from a colloquial standpoint. To me, as your friend, you looked more found than lost."
Charlie sat down and stared at the CD gripped tight in his hands. "It's true, but it wasn't me who was found - it was her." He looked up at Larry, his expression competing between happiness and grief. "I found her again in her music. It's like having a piece of her with me."
"Then I'll leave you alone to spend more time with her," Larry said graciously. "Call me when you're ready to talk." He headed out of the room, but stopped when Charlie called after him.
"Larry... Would you like to attend a live concert of my mother's concerto? The L.A. Phil will be doing it later this year."
Larry turned back to Charlie and put a hand on his chest, bowing his head. "I'd be honored."
+
Alan adjusted his cell phone's Bluetooth earpiece as he drove the scant ten feet the freeway traffic had moved.
"Yes, an extra twenty tickets. There ended up being quite a few people on the list I got from Margaret's old law firm. You sure you guys have enough tickets for yourselves already? Good. Thanks so much Sandra, and tell your father hello for me. Bye."
Alan hung up the phone and fumbled taking the earpiece off as he tried to change lanes, only to be cut off. He grumbled under his breath and turned the radio on. Commercials. He hit the scan button and waited for something worth listening to to come up. He reached into his briefcase and felt his fingertips brush against smooth plastic.
He pulled the CD out and stared at it for a few seconds while stopped, earning him a honk when he didn't move forward the next ten feet fast enough for the car behind him. He scowled and drove the distance, stopping just as his phone rang.
He put the CD down on the seat next to him where he could see the cover and put his earpiece back in to answer the phone.
"Stan! Did your flight get in already? I thought you weren't due for another fifteen minutes."
Alan put his turn signal on and tried to make his way over to the airport exit.
"I'm in the area, just fighting traffic to get to the terminal. Hopefully I'll drive up just as you're getting your bags."
A car cut in front of Alan's car, narrowly missing it and almost hitting another car as well. He took a deep breath and tried not to get riled up over their rudeness, unwanted adrenaline roiling through his system.
"Yes, the date's in the email I sent to your home account. Adele said you'd be back from your trip to New York by then. I'm really glad you two are coming. I know Margaret would be thrilled for you to hear her concerto."
Alan managed to get onto the exit finally and turned onto the surface street heading for the airport entrance. He listened to his business partner speak for a while, trying to manage both driving and keeping his emotions under control.
"Thank you, Stan. That means a lot to me. I do think Margaret would feel that way and I am happy about this. It's just hard, you know? The boys, they don't understand... They've never been married. How could they?"
Alan stopped at a stoplight and let out a long breath, trying to chase away the tension crawling up his shoulders.
"Baggage claim 11? Okay, I'll call you when I'm outside the terminal. See you in a few minutes..."
As he waited for the light to change, he noticed the radio was still scanning, turned down low. His gaze fell on the CD on the seat beside him. He turned the radio off and slid the CD into the player. As the delicate opening notes began, he felt the bone deep ache of grief wash over him. He pushed the eject button, put the CD back into the case and slipped it back into his briefcase.
The light turned green and he started driving again. His phone rang and he glanced at the caller ID: Donna.
He let it go to voicemail.
+
Charlie finished tying the laces on his dress shoes and stood, grabbing his suit jacket from his desk chair.
He moved to his mirror and put the jacket on, buttoning it up to check his appearance then unbuttoning it as he headed down the hall to where Don was getting ready in his old room.
He knocked lightly and finding the door ajar, pushed it open tentatively.
"Don?"
"Yeah, Charlie."
"Can I come in?"
"You own the place," Don said with a chortle. "Not like I could keep you out."
Charlie frowned as he stepped through the door, closing it mostly behind him
"It doesn't matter whose name is on the deed, this is still your home too, Don."
Don forced a smile, an attempt to hide the wince that belied the pain he was in.
Saddened, Charlie sat beside him on the bed
"I was sure I'd be the last one ready," he said, gesturing to show he'd noticed Don hadn't put his tie or coat on yet.
"I couldn't decide on a tie," Don said mournfully. "How pathetic is that?" He grabbed the handful of ties from the bed beside him to show Charlie.
Charlie took the ties from him, selected one, rose and nudged Don to stand. "Up," he ordered.
Don stood obediently and let Charlie put the tie on him and knot it.
"I seem to recall a time when our roles were reversed," Don said quietly, not meeting his brother's eyes.
Charlie faltered for a few seconds then worked on adjusting the tie.
"I never thanked you for that," Charlie said, trying to be stoic. "I never would have made it through the funeral without you. You took care of Dad and me... You handled all the funeral arrangements... I don't know how you held it all together, but you did."
Don shrugged, but the movement held little energy behind it, as if his sadness had left him listless. "Well, if law enforcement teaches you anything it's how to function during a crisis." He paused briefly before continuing. "But that doesn't mean you don't pay for it later." They both fell silent for a moment as the tie was completed, then Charlie handed Don his jacket. Don held it in his hands, fingers plucking imaginary lint from the fabric. "You know I don't show it much, but I do miss her."
"I know you do," Charlie assured him, urging him to put on the coat. "In some ways it's worse for you than for Dad or I." He adjusted Don's lapels once the coat was on as Don looked at him quizzically.
"How's that?"
"Once you joined the FBI you just weren't around anymore. You weren't here for seven years of her life. Sure I lived with Susan for a while and traveled a lot, but this was always home to me." Once Don's coat was buttoned, Charlie's hands fell to his sides and he couldn't seem to figure out what to do with them. "I just feel like you missed out on spending time with her, that's all"
"Well, what I do..." Don said wistfully. "There are sacrifices..."
"Yes," Charlie agreed. "There are. So let's go enjoy a reward for once, okay?"
He smiled up at his brother and Don returned the smile, his eyes crinkling up at the sides.
"Okay."
"You boys ready?" Alan asked excitedly as he poked his head in the room. "We have to get there early or we'll miss our chance to meet Salonen and Barutz!"
"Barutz?" Don asked as they headed down the stairs.
"The pianist!" Charlie explained.
"Is she hot?" Don asked jokingly.
"Sure, if you're into forty-eight year old Russian women," Alan teased.
+
Don sat watching as Lilliana Barutz's fingers skated expertly over the ivories, his fingers twitching with slight movements as he followed the themes he'd memorized learning to play his mother's music. His body leaned into each swell, feet pressing the floor as if on the pedals, and he leaned back with each delicate release as the motif lightened.
His movements were barely discernable to those around him, but he felt every one - felt like it was his body playing the piece, playing it for her.
-
Charlie sat with his eyes closed, listening to now familiar intervals make the patterns he'd discovered in his mother's music - the beautiful math in the motif lifting him up, engaging his mind, making him seek out new patterns even though he'd spent long hours in deep study gazing at the sheet music as the CD played on endless repeat.
His body was perfectly still, but his mind had never felt more alive, more vibrant, and he felt like if anyone could see into his head and recognize the incredible beauty of numbers in music it would be her.
-
Alan felt the swell of pride in his chest war with the crushing pressure of grief. His eyes prickled, but he told himself he would not cry - not even during the theme that always got him choked up at home, the one motif he'd caught her playing on the piano when he scolded her for being out of bed when she was so weak.
He wished she could have played this for him in life, but as he closed his eyes, it was her at the piano, playing for him - only for him, immortalized in this perfect moment.
And then the music faded away.
=
Title: Last Forever Fade Away
Pairing/Characters: Charlie, Don, Alan, Larry, Megan, Amita, Stan, OCs
Rating: PG
Spoilers: UP, Structural Corruption, Soft Target, The Running Man
Summary: The Eppes men discover there was more to Margaret's music than they knew
Notes/Warnings: Read the disclaimer on my LJ
Alan knew the work he did as a city planner changed the landscape of the city enough to last into the next century.
He knew Don's work with the FBI made the streets safer for decades with every arrest.
He knew Charlie's mathematical discoveries would be put in books and taught for generations to come.
Alan always thought Margaret's legacy was in her legal work, in her advocacy on behalf of those whom society wanted to forget about, to hide away rather than help.
Once they found out about her music though, he knew that her legacy there would last forever.
+
"Stuart!" Alan's eyes widened in surprise when he opened the door to find his longtime family lawyer standing there.
"Hello, Alan. It's been a while." The old man smiled kindly and shook Alan's hand with his wizened and frail one.
"Come in, come in!" Alan urged, guiding Stuart patiently towards the living room as he slowly shuffled his way to a chair. "When the firm told me they were sending someone over with documents for us, I had no idea it would be you. Sandra told me just a couple of weeks ago you were still out on medical leave. I was glad to hear your bypass operation went well. We were all very concerned."
Stuart lowered himself carefully into the chair Alan proffered. "Thank you, and I appreciated the flowers while I was recovering."
Alan made a jovial sound of dismissal. "It was nothing. You've been representing our family for decades. I just wish I could have done more. So how are you feeling these days? I'm surprised to see you back at work."
"I'm doing all right. I'm not technically back at work although I've stuck my head in the office a few times before my daughter found me and sent me back home." Stuart chuckled as he settled into the chair. "She's doing a great job running the firm. I was worried about retiring early, but I think that was just my pride. I have nothing to worry about."
"You know Margaret always thought Sandra was an exceptional attorney. You really are lucky to have a daughter to hand the firm down to."
Stuart eyed Alan with a knowing smirk. "Don't tell me you wish your sons had followed in your footsteps and gone into city planning?"
Alan shook his head thoughtfully. "No, they came close enough for Margaret and I though. Margaret was a lawyer and Don went into law enforcement. I studied architecture and engineering and Charlie's math is used in those fields often. You know, he's the one who figured out the flaw in the Cole Centre building downtown?"
"Really? I read about them having to retrofit the building for safety because of construction fraud. I had no idea."
"Yes, and Don was the one who uncovered who was behind the fraud and arrested them."
"Well, clearly you have plenty of reason to be proud of your sons, Alan."
Alan nodded happily, beaming with pride. "Yes, I do. My boys have grown up to become exceptional men."
"Speaking of..." Stuart glanced around a bit. "They're not here yet?"
"They should be here any moment. Don phoned to say he's stuck in traffic and Charlie had office hours until 4:30. He said he'd come right afterwards."
Alan was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
"That should be a clerk from my office," Stuart said. "I asked them to send someone with the box of files since they're more than I can carry on my own."
Alan nodded in understanding. "Excuse me." He headed for the front door and returned a moment later with a cardboard file box, which he set on the coffee table.
"While we're waiting for Don and Charlie to arrive, can you at least tell me what this is about?" he asked. "I know you asked us all to be here at once, but I'll admit you got my curiosity going."
Stuart hesitated for a moment, steepling his fingers as he considered the request. "Well, Margaret's instructions were quite clear that I was to tell all of you at the same time. She didn't, however, include any instructions about the contents of the box, other than to turn them over to you at the same time. So legally, I can't really stop you from opening the box and looking inside before I tell you what I'm obligated by contract to tell you."
"That's lawyer speak for 'don't ask don't tell', isn't it?" Alan said, winking.
Stuart let out a bemused chuckle. "Consider it plausible deniability. The box is in your home now. The rest is up to you."
Alan stepped over to the box and put his hands on the lid to remove it. Suddenly a fresh wave of grief washed over him and he hesitated. Margaret had hidden her music from him for decades and although he tried to understand why she would have done that, it still hurt to know there was a beautiful and talented part of her she kept from him.
He took a deep breath and removed the lid from the box, peering inside.
"Oh my..."
+
When Charlie noticed Don's car pulling up, he waited in the front yard so they could go in together.
"Hey, buddy. Sorry I'm late." Don gave his brother an affectionate pat on the arm as they headed in.
"I just got here myself," Charlie said, unconsciously returning his brother's gesture. "Any idea what this is about?"
"No, I'm just as clueless as you are."
"Oh, I doubt that," Charlie said with a chortle.
"Get out of here," Don gave Charlie a playful shove, laughing.
They walked into the house smiling, but their faces fell when they caught sight of their father standing in the living room.
The lines of his face were etched in grief and his posture was withdrawn yet stoic. The brothers recognized the signs independently of each other and both stopped cold. This was their father trying to be strong and that was never a good sign.
"Dad?" Charlie finally choked out.
"Don, Charlie..." Alan beckoned to them, his face relaxing into a slightly strained smile. "Stuart and I kind of got started without you. I'm sorry."
Charlie was the first to greet their old family friend. "How are you feeling, Mr. Weil?"
Stuart shook Charlie's and then Don's hand. "Much better, thank you."
"We were all glad to hear the operation went well," Don offered.
"Yes, the doctors think I'll be around long enough to annoy my grandchildren well into their college years."
"Long enough to talk them into going to law school, you mean?" Alan teased.
"There are other professions?" Stuart joked back. "Just kidding boys," he said to Don and Charlie.
They all settled into seats, Charlie only noticing the box once he saw Don eying it suspiciously.
"Shall we begin then?" Stuart asked.
All three men nodded.
"Well, I know you already were aware that Margaret was an accomplished pianist and composer."
"Yes," Charlie said. "I found a box of her musical compositions including an etude she published under her maiden name, Margaret Mann."
"We did a search," Don explained. "And that was the only piece we found that she published."
Stuart glanced at Alan, then back at Don and Charlie.
"Actually, what I'm here to tell you is that she did publish more. She just published under a different name: Margaret Eppes."
+
The contents of the box were spread out all over the living room: contracts and publishing agreements all over the coffee table, sheet music littering the couch beside Don, CDs in a pile on Charlie's lap and a copy of Piano Concerto in A Minor by Margaret Eppes in Alan's unsteady hands.
"She considered that her masterwork," Stuart said quietly. "Well, that's my word, not hers, but she did acknowledge that that was what she'd been working towards her whole life, that piano concerto."
Charlie looked up from the CDs, wonder in his voice and expression. "So many orchestras recorded her concerto. How could we not know?"
"Well, as I told you earlier, since she put the control of her music into the hands of her agent, there wasn't any need for her to get involved with any of the transactions. Our firm, as her trustee, handled all the arrangements. She just asked that the proceeds be held in a trust fund kept separate from the family finances." Stuart leaned forward and his voice took a softer turn. "I really think she gave the concerto such a plain name so that no one would notice it or trace it back to her. Yes, it's traditional naming, but modern composers are often a bit more colorful with their names these days. She chose not to go that route. I also think she knew she'd never manage to write another one. This one was completed several years before her diagnosis, but somehow I think she was ready for her musical career to draw to a close."
"This was her finale," Charlie said thoughtfully, brushing his fingers over her name on the CD case.
Stuart cleared his throat to subtly get their attention.
"The provisions of Margaret's contract with us in regards to this matter were quite clear. My firm was not to disclose the existence of these materials to her family until after the second anniversary of her death or the birth of a grandchild, which ever came first."
Don and Charlie glanced at each other, perplexed.
"Neither of us is even married, much less having kids," Don said. "And it hasn't been two years yet."
"So why now?" Charlie added.
"There was a provision - fine print that I asked for and she agreed to," Stuart explained. "In the event that there was a good chance you would find out through other means, I was to tell you in advance so that you wouldn't accidentally find out from another source."
"So that's happened then?" Alan asked. "Something's come up?"
"Yes, something I'm very pleased about," Stuart said, brightening, the old man's eyes dancing with excitement. "I would have told you about it sooner, but with the surgery and all I'm afraid the business transactions with Margaret's agent had to be assigned to a junior partner to handle."
Alan waved a hand at him in casual dismissal. "No, I totally understand. What is it?"
Stuart took a deep breath, then said the words in a rush. "Salonen wants it."
"Salonen, as in L.A. Philharmonic?" Alan said, clearly stunned.
Stuart nodded vigorously, a pleased little smile on his face. "I don't know how her agent got him to consider it, since she's not well known at all. All the recordings and performances so far have all been small city and college symphonies. This is by far the most prestigious performance to date, far more than I think even she anticipated."
Don shook his head in disbelief, taking a stunned moment before he spoke. "Wait, you're telling us the L.A. Philharmonic Orchestra is going to be playing our mother's music? Don't they just do Mozart and Beethoven and stuff like that?"
"For their main programs they do, but Salonen wants this for the Green Umbrella series, which focuses on modern and lesser known composers. It's considered quite a coup for a composer to get a slot on his schedule, since he doesn't conduct all the Green Umbrella concerts himself, even if as music director he does choose all the music for the year."
Charlie just sat in silent shock, his hands halted halfway through opening one of the CD cases.
"We'll get to hear her music... I mean live and in person," he murmured in amazement.
Stuart smiled, indulgent. "I've instructed my daughter to secure a block of seats for you. I told her to get twenty, but if you want more, just let her know and she'll arrange them for you. I'm guessing you'll want to invite quite a few people for this special occasion."
Alan nodded, still a bit overwhelmed. He closed the cover on the printed score in his hands, staring at his wife's name on the cover.
"She did all this..." he marveled. A small smile crossed his face as he looked to his sons. "You know, it wasn't that she intended to keep this from us. She just tried to save it until we were ready."
"Two years," Charlie mused. "But I'm glad we didn't have to wait that long to find out."
Don ran a finger across the page of handwritten notation in front of him. "I'm glad too." He looked up and over at the CD in Charlie's hand. "Can we listen to it now?"
All three men turned to Stuart, as if they needed his permission to proceed.
"Of course," he said. "It's what she wanted."
+
Don finished typing up his database query, hit enter and sat back to wait for the results.
Megan watched as his fingers moved across the edge of his desk in what at first seemed to be a random pattern but then proved to be rather rhythmic.
When the printer finished, she picked up her pages, checked them, then slid them into a folder. She walked the folder over to Don's desk and tossed it in his In box before she leaned against the edge, watching him.
Don pulled his hands into his lap abruptly as he turned to her. "What do you need?"
"Nothing," Megan said casually, punctuating it with a little shrug. "Just watching you."
Don eyed her with a crooked grin. "Didn't we already go over you not profiling me at work?"
Megan chuckled, cocking her head at Don's hands. "I was just trying to figure out what all the finger tapping was about, that's all."
Don looked down at his hands thoughtfully for a moment, all humor erased.
"My mom..." he started quietly, "she wasn't just a lawyer. She wrote music too, played the piano."
"Yeah," Megan said, keeping her voice hushed as well. "Charlie told me that before. You must have been very proud of her."
"I didn't know..." Don said. "I mean we didn't know..." He stopped and rubbed the back of his neck for a few seconds. "This is going to sound weird, but basically we just found out that not only did my mom write music, but she's published. Orchestras all over the world have played and even recorded her work."
"Wow," Megan murmured, suitably impressed. "How did you find out?"
"She set up a trust and the family lawyer came to tell us about it because the L.A. Phil is going to perform her piano concerto later this year."
"The L.A. Phil? Salonen?"
"Yeah, can you believe it?" Don shook his head, incredulous. "I was going to tell you guys. We got a block of tickets and if any of you want to go..."
"I do," Megan interrupted. "And I know David and Colby will want to as well, so count us in."
Don gave her a look. "You don't have to go just for me, Megan."
Megan waved him off. "Are you kidding? A family member of someone I know wrote a concerto and the Phil's performing it? How cool is that? Why wouldn't I want to go?"
Don nodded, pleased. "I'll email over the date then."
Megan studied Don a bit more carefully.
"You weren't going to tell us for a while, were you?"
"Honestly? No," he admitted. "It's still pretty raw to me and I wasn't really ready to talk about it at work, you know? But I can't stop thinking about it..." he stared down at his hands, "hearing it in my head and feeling it in my fingers, like I don't want to rest until I've got the main theme down, you know? I want to be able to play what my mother wrote."
Megan smiled in understanding. "It makes perfect sense, Don. So keep it to yourself for now. I won't tell the others and you can ask them when you're ready." She reached down, pulled his hands out of his lap and put them back on his desk. "And keep working on that theme. You'll get it in time."
Don looked up at Megan, his eyes filled with gratitude. "Thanks," he said softly.
Megan gave his shoulder a squeeze as she walked back to her desk and Don turned to his screen as his query results came up.
+
Larry stood in the doorway of Charlie's office, after giving up on knocking, just watching him.
His blackboards were erased - a sure sign he was settling in for a long work session - yet the one he was standing at had just a few lines on it, ending in an expression that remained unfinished.
Charlie stood, chalk raised somewhat but nowhere near the board, with his headphones on and his eyes closed, seemingly lost inside his own head. A contented smile played at his lips and his body moved to a subtle unheard rhythm, head nodding slightly in time.
Larry finally settled into a comfortable chair, both ready to take a break and oddly fascinated by whatever could have torn Charlie from his numbers.
Amita barged in - head down over some papers - and headed for Charlie, but Larry caught her by the arm as she tried to pass and simply shook his head at her. She frowned, but then looked over at Charlie - still in a blissful trance-like state - and then looked at Larry questioningly.
He just shook his head again and waved her to the door. She left, confused, but willingly.
A few minutes later the music must have ended because Charlie finally slipped off his headphones and opened his eyes.
"Larry!" he said, startled. "When did you come in?"
"In the grand scheme of the timeline of the universe, does it really matter?" Larry mused quixotically.
"No, but in my little office it does," Charlie tossed back, his tone friendly. "Why didn't you interrupt me? I didn't mean to make you wait."
Larry rose and headed over to Charlie's desk. "You looked like you didn't want to be interrupted." Larry opened up Charlie's CD player and read off the disc. "New England Philharmonic... Piano Concerto in A Minor... By Margaret Eppes?" Larry looked up at Charlie in shock. "Charles! You never told me..."
"I never knew myself until recently." Charlie took the player back from him, removed the CD and placed it gently back in its case. "We just found out from the family lawyer. Evidently my mother set up a charitable trust so that any proceeds from her music would go to help the causes she fought for in her social work via a couple of non-profits she used to do pro-bono work for."
"That's beautiful, Charles," Larry said sincerely.
"And so is the music." Charlie glanced up at the nearly empty board. "I meant to listen to it while I worked, but once I really started listening I just couldn't think of anything else. There are some really intriguing patterns in her themes," he started to sound excited, "that are rather complex mathematically speaking because she chose to write this in a minor key..."
Larry put up a hand to halt him. "I'm sure they are, but let's save that discussion for after I've heard the piece."
Charlie picked up the CD case possessively, an almost unconscious reaction to the idea of letting it out of his sight.
Larry patted him on the arm reassuringly. "It doesn't have to be now Charles, or even any time in the near future. In fact, why don't you just email me the information and I'll buy a copy for myself." He smiled thoughtfully. "If it has that effect on you, I certainly want to try it myself. There are certainly plenty of times I'd prefer to lose myself in music instead of work."
"Is that how I looked?" Charlie asked. "Lost?"
Larry tapped his index finger against his lips for a few seconds before answering. "Linguistically I would say that that would be the appropriate word from a colloquial standpoint. To me, as your friend, you looked more found than lost."
Charlie sat down and stared at the CD gripped tight in his hands. "It's true, but it wasn't me who was found - it was her." He looked up at Larry, his expression competing between happiness and grief. "I found her again in her music. It's like having a piece of her with me."
"Then I'll leave you alone to spend more time with her," Larry said graciously. "Call me when you're ready to talk." He headed out of the room, but stopped when Charlie called after him.
"Larry... Would you like to attend a live concert of my mother's concerto? The L.A. Phil will be doing it later this year."
Larry turned back to Charlie and put a hand on his chest, bowing his head. "I'd be honored."
+
Alan adjusted his cell phone's Bluetooth earpiece as he drove the scant ten feet the freeway traffic had moved.
"Yes, an extra twenty tickets. There ended up being quite a few people on the list I got from Margaret's old law firm. You sure you guys have enough tickets for yourselves already? Good. Thanks so much Sandra, and tell your father hello for me. Bye."
Alan hung up the phone and fumbled taking the earpiece off as he tried to change lanes, only to be cut off. He grumbled under his breath and turned the radio on. Commercials. He hit the scan button and waited for something worth listening to to come up. He reached into his briefcase and felt his fingertips brush against smooth plastic.
He pulled the CD out and stared at it for a few seconds while stopped, earning him a honk when he didn't move forward the next ten feet fast enough for the car behind him. He scowled and drove the distance, stopping just as his phone rang.
He put the CD down on the seat next to him where he could see the cover and put his earpiece back in to answer the phone.
"Stan! Did your flight get in already? I thought you weren't due for another fifteen minutes."
Alan put his turn signal on and tried to make his way over to the airport exit.
"I'm in the area, just fighting traffic to get to the terminal. Hopefully I'll drive up just as you're getting your bags."
A car cut in front of Alan's car, narrowly missing it and almost hitting another car as well. He took a deep breath and tried not to get riled up over their rudeness, unwanted adrenaline roiling through his system.
"Yes, the date's in the email I sent to your home account. Adele said you'd be back from your trip to New York by then. I'm really glad you two are coming. I know Margaret would be thrilled for you to hear her concerto."
Alan managed to get onto the exit finally and turned onto the surface street heading for the airport entrance. He listened to his business partner speak for a while, trying to manage both driving and keeping his emotions under control.
"Thank you, Stan. That means a lot to me. I do think Margaret would feel that way and I am happy about this. It's just hard, you know? The boys, they don't understand... They've never been married. How could they?"
Alan stopped at a stoplight and let out a long breath, trying to chase away the tension crawling up his shoulders.
"Baggage claim 11? Okay, I'll call you when I'm outside the terminal. See you in a few minutes..."
As he waited for the light to change, he noticed the radio was still scanning, turned down low. His gaze fell on the CD on the seat beside him. He turned the radio off and slid the CD into the player. As the delicate opening notes began, he felt the bone deep ache of grief wash over him. He pushed the eject button, put the CD back into the case and slipped it back into his briefcase.
The light turned green and he started driving again. His phone rang and he glanced at the caller ID: Donna.
He let it go to voicemail.
+
Charlie finished tying the laces on his dress shoes and stood, grabbing his suit jacket from his desk chair.
He moved to his mirror and put the jacket on, buttoning it up to check his appearance then unbuttoning it as he headed down the hall to where Don was getting ready in his old room.
He knocked lightly and finding the door ajar, pushed it open tentatively.
"Don?"
"Yeah, Charlie."
"Can I come in?"
"You own the place," Don said with a chortle. "Not like I could keep you out."
Charlie frowned as he stepped through the door, closing it mostly behind him
"It doesn't matter whose name is on the deed, this is still your home too, Don."
Don forced a smile, an attempt to hide the wince that belied the pain he was in.
Saddened, Charlie sat beside him on the bed
"I was sure I'd be the last one ready," he said, gesturing to show he'd noticed Don hadn't put his tie or coat on yet.
"I couldn't decide on a tie," Don said mournfully. "How pathetic is that?" He grabbed the handful of ties from the bed beside him to show Charlie.
Charlie took the ties from him, selected one, rose and nudged Don to stand. "Up," he ordered.
Don stood obediently and let Charlie put the tie on him and knot it.
"I seem to recall a time when our roles were reversed," Don said quietly, not meeting his brother's eyes.
Charlie faltered for a few seconds then worked on adjusting the tie.
"I never thanked you for that," Charlie said, trying to be stoic. "I never would have made it through the funeral without you. You took care of Dad and me... You handled all the funeral arrangements... I don't know how you held it all together, but you did."
Don shrugged, but the movement held little energy behind it, as if his sadness had left him listless. "Well, if law enforcement teaches you anything it's how to function during a crisis." He paused briefly before continuing. "But that doesn't mean you don't pay for it later." They both fell silent for a moment as the tie was completed, then Charlie handed Don his jacket. Don held it in his hands, fingers plucking imaginary lint from the fabric. "You know I don't show it much, but I do miss her."
"I know you do," Charlie assured him, urging him to put on the coat. "In some ways it's worse for you than for Dad or I." He adjusted Don's lapels once the coat was on as Don looked at him quizzically.
"How's that?"
"Once you joined the FBI you just weren't around anymore. You weren't here for seven years of her life. Sure I lived with Susan for a while and traveled a lot, but this was always home to me." Once Don's coat was buttoned, Charlie's hands fell to his sides and he couldn't seem to figure out what to do with them. "I just feel like you missed out on spending time with her, that's all"
"Well, what I do..." Don said wistfully. "There are sacrifices..."
"Yes," Charlie agreed. "There are. So let's go enjoy a reward for once, okay?"
He smiled up at his brother and Don returned the smile, his eyes crinkling up at the sides.
"Okay."
"You boys ready?" Alan asked excitedly as he poked his head in the room. "We have to get there early or we'll miss our chance to meet Salonen and Barutz!"
"Barutz?" Don asked as they headed down the stairs.
"The pianist!" Charlie explained.
"Is she hot?" Don asked jokingly.
"Sure, if you're into forty-eight year old Russian women," Alan teased.
+
Don sat watching as Lilliana Barutz's fingers skated expertly over the ivories, his fingers twitching with slight movements as he followed the themes he'd memorized learning to play his mother's music. His body leaned into each swell, feet pressing the floor as if on the pedals, and he leaned back with each delicate release as the motif lightened.
His movements were barely discernable to those around him, but he felt every one - felt like it was his body playing the piece, playing it for her.
-
Charlie sat with his eyes closed, listening to now familiar intervals make the patterns he'd discovered in his mother's music - the beautiful math in the motif lifting him up, engaging his mind, making him seek out new patterns even though he'd spent long hours in deep study gazing at the sheet music as the CD played on endless repeat.
His body was perfectly still, but his mind had never felt more alive, more vibrant, and he felt like if anyone could see into his head and recognize the incredible beauty of numbers in music it would be her.
-
Alan felt the swell of pride in his chest war with the crushing pressure of grief. His eyes prickled, but he told himself he would not cry - not even during the theme that always got him choked up at home, the one motif he'd caught her playing on the piano when he scolded her for being out of bed when she was so weak.
He wished she could have played this for him in life, but as he closed his eyes, it was her at the piano, playing for him - only for him, immortalized in this perfect moment.
And then the music faded away.
=