Fic: Moonlight Sonata (Sun/Jack, au100: prompt #37: sound)
Title: Moonlight Sonata
Rating: PG
Summary: There’s a piano in the bar of the hotel they’re staying in. Jack notices it first, when they’ve checked in, herded along in their large group by a hotel employee who seems intent on talking about “what they’ve been through” like he knows what that means, while listing the hotel’s accommodations like it must be the Ritz compared to where they’ve been living.
Disclaimer: For elise_509, because I can. :) Used for au100, prompt #37: sound.
There’s a piano in the bar of the hotel they’re staying in. Jack notices it first, when they’ve checked in, herded along in their large group by a hotel employee who seems intent on talking about “what they’ve been through” like he knows what that means, while listing the hotel’s accommodations like it must be the Ritz compared to where they’ve been living. It’s true, but no less annoying. Jack’s eyes linger over the keys, but the glimpse comes and goes as they pass quickly.
Every night Jack spends in that bar, scotch in hand, he stares at the piano like a lost lover. But he stays rooted to his seat at the bar, sipping from his drink as his thoughts consume him.
“Do you play?” a smiling blonde woman that he didn’t know had asked him one night, when she’d caught him staring. She had been pretty enough, wearing a low-cut shirt and a miniskirt, but the only glance Jack had spared her was the first one.
Instead, he swallowed the rest of his drink and answered, “A long time ago.”
Long after the bar has closed, long after he has decided that he isn’t going to get any sleep, Jack takes the elevator down to the lobby, wearing a pair of loose black pants and a plain gray tee shirt. The sizeable clock in the center of the far wall informs him that it’s a quarter to four in the morning.
Jack sighs, wondering to himself why he’s so on-edge, restless. He knows, logically, that it’s because his flight back to the States leaves tomorrow. He doesn’t know if it’s the fear that the plane will be ripped apart and he’ll fall from the sky, yet again, or the intense, unyielding separation anxiety that’s keeping him awake. It’s more than likely a combination of the two.
In any case, he finds his feet leading him toward the often stared at, but never played, piano. He thinks it’s the comfort, the stability he’s seeking. He always feels grounded by playing the piano, the simple action enough to pull him in and center him, no matter the chaos he’s surrounded by.
The closer he gets to the bar, the more aware he becomes of a sound, then another, until he realizes that he is hearing notes, then chords, then music. Moonlight Sonata, played on the piano with a practiced east that rivals Jack’s own.
Someone, he suddenly understands, has beat him to the piano.
He thinks he should turn around, that whoever had come down here to play the piano at four in the morning must have done so seeking solitude as well. He thinks he should, but he doesn’t. He can’t. He feels himself enthralled, pulled in by the progression of the music, by the notes and the beauty of the song. He follows them, drifts along until he’s standing at the back of the person seated in front of the baby grand piano.
Long, dark hair cascades down her back, as long, capable fingers move over the keys like it’s second nature, like they’ve never stopped. For a long while, Jack stares at them, watches them as they move. Only when he lifts his head does Jack realize that he’s been staring at Sun.
Shame comes and goes just as quickly. It is replaced with wide-eyed awe. Jack never knew this about her, and now that he does, he somehow feels as though he’s looking at a different person.
She finishes and sighs, as if she’s letting go of something she had been holding on to. Her fingers slip from the keys and she stiffens a bit. Jack thinks about hiding, but dismisses the idea as idiotic. When she begins to turn around slowly, he knows that he’s been found out, that she’s sensed his presence.
When she sees him, though, she smiles softly. “Good evening, Jack,” she says. Jack smiles back and takes a few more steps into the room. She’s wearing a silk nightgown, he sees, and a matching robe. Her stomach sticks out in front of her a ways, now that she’s nearly seven months along.
“I didn’t know you played,” Jack says, because it’s the only thing that he can seem to think about at the moment. She smiles and runs her fingers, lightly, over the keys.
“Not for a very long time,” she answers, wistfully. She turns back to Jack, an almost sad little smile on her face. “I wanted to see if I still could.”
Jack takes a few more tentative steps closer, finding himself being drawn forward despite the fact that the music has long since died away. He gestures, silently asks Sun if he can sit down next to her, and she smiles and nods.
“Do you play?” Sun asks, after Jack has sat down. Jack runs his fingers over the black and white keys, lightly, as Sun had done before him. There’s an intense longing in the simple gesture so strong that Sun can almost feel it, rolling off of him in waves. She waits, patiently, for Jack’s reply.
“Not, um, not for a long time,” Jack replies, softly. Sun covers Jack's hand with hers over the keys. He looks up at her and finds a soft, friendly smile on her face. He can't help but smile back.
“Will you play for me?” she asks. It’s an almost hesitant request, because she can see how tender Jack is feeling at the moment. But she longs to hear the music flow out from under Jack’s fingers and surrounds them both. She can tell, however, that it's what Jack wants as well.
Jack gazes at her for a few moments before his head drops and he nods a few times, saying, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He lifts his hands and lowers them a few times, and Sun notices, in a half-second glance, that Jack's hands are shaking. He straightens them out, with a deep sigh.
When his hands finally fall on the keys, they’re stead, and when the music begins to flow out of the piano, it encompasses the both of them. Jack plays like he never stopped, like his last lesson was yesterday. Sun closes her eyes, enthralled, and puts her hands on her stomach.
She feels Jack’s eyes on her, and he seems encouraged by her reaction, because his playing becomes more intricate, more powerful. The music swells and when the song climaxes, then fades away, Sun lets out a breath that she had never realized that she was holding in.
“Thank you,” she sighs out, like a long, cleansing breath. She leans her head on Jack's shoulder, and her eyes close once more.
“You’re welcome,” Jack replies, softly, almost as low as a whisper. He reaches out, holding one of the hands resting on top of Sun’s stomach. He kisses her forehead, thinking, for the first time all night, that he may be able to sleep.
Rating: PG
Summary: There’s a piano in the bar of the hotel they’re staying in. Jack notices it first, when they’ve checked in, herded along in their large group by a hotel employee who seems intent on talking about “what they’ve been through” like he knows what that means, while listing the hotel’s accommodations like it must be the Ritz compared to where they’ve been living.
Disclaimer: For elise_509, because I can. :) Used for au100, prompt #37: sound.
There’s a piano in the bar of the hotel they’re staying in. Jack notices it first, when they’ve checked in, herded along in their large group by a hotel employee who seems intent on talking about “what they’ve been through” like he knows what that means, while listing the hotel’s accommodations like it must be the Ritz compared to where they’ve been living. It’s true, but no less annoying. Jack’s eyes linger over the keys, but the glimpse comes and goes as they pass quickly.
Every night Jack spends in that bar, scotch in hand, he stares at the piano like a lost lover. But he stays rooted to his seat at the bar, sipping from his drink as his thoughts consume him.
“Do you play?” a smiling blonde woman that he didn’t know had asked him one night, when she’d caught him staring. She had been pretty enough, wearing a low-cut shirt and a miniskirt, but the only glance Jack had spared her was the first one.
Instead, he swallowed the rest of his drink and answered, “A long time ago.”
Long after the bar has closed, long after he has decided that he isn’t going to get any sleep, Jack takes the elevator down to the lobby, wearing a pair of loose black pants and a plain gray tee shirt. The sizeable clock in the center of the far wall informs him that it’s a quarter to four in the morning.
Jack sighs, wondering to himself why he’s so on-edge, restless. He knows, logically, that it’s because his flight back to the States leaves tomorrow. He doesn’t know if it’s the fear that the plane will be ripped apart and he’ll fall from the sky, yet again, or the intense, unyielding separation anxiety that’s keeping him awake. It’s more than likely a combination of the two.
In any case, he finds his feet leading him toward the often stared at, but never played, piano. He thinks it’s the comfort, the stability he’s seeking. He always feels grounded by playing the piano, the simple action enough to pull him in and center him, no matter the chaos he’s surrounded by.
The closer he gets to the bar, the more aware he becomes of a sound, then another, until he realizes that he is hearing notes, then chords, then music. Moonlight Sonata, played on the piano with a practiced east that rivals Jack’s own.
Someone, he suddenly understands, has beat him to the piano.
He thinks he should turn around, that whoever had come down here to play the piano at four in the morning must have done so seeking solitude as well. He thinks he should, but he doesn’t. He can’t. He feels himself enthralled, pulled in by the progression of the music, by the notes and the beauty of the song. He follows them, drifts along until he’s standing at the back of the person seated in front of the baby grand piano.
Long, dark hair cascades down her back, as long, capable fingers move over the keys like it’s second nature, like they’ve never stopped. For a long while, Jack stares at them, watches them as they move. Only when he lifts his head does Jack realize that he’s been staring at Sun.
Shame comes and goes just as quickly. It is replaced with wide-eyed awe. Jack never knew this about her, and now that he does, he somehow feels as though he’s looking at a different person.
She finishes and sighs, as if she’s letting go of something she had been holding on to. Her fingers slip from the keys and she stiffens a bit. Jack thinks about hiding, but dismisses the idea as idiotic. When she begins to turn around slowly, he knows that he’s been found out, that she’s sensed his presence.
When she sees him, though, she smiles softly. “Good evening, Jack,” she says. Jack smiles back and takes a few more steps into the room. She’s wearing a silk nightgown, he sees, and a matching robe. Her stomach sticks out in front of her a ways, now that she’s nearly seven months along.
“I didn’t know you played,” Jack says, because it’s the only thing that he can seem to think about at the moment. She smiles and runs her fingers, lightly, over the keys.
“Not for a very long time,” she answers, wistfully. She turns back to Jack, an almost sad little smile on her face. “I wanted to see if I still could.”
Jack takes a few more tentative steps closer, finding himself being drawn forward despite the fact that the music has long since died away. He gestures, silently asks Sun if he can sit down next to her, and she smiles and nods.
“Do you play?” Sun asks, after Jack has sat down. Jack runs his fingers over the black and white keys, lightly, as Sun had done before him. There’s an intense longing in the simple gesture so strong that Sun can almost feel it, rolling off of him in waves. She waits, patiently, for Jack’s reply.
“Not, um, not for a long time,” Jack replies, softly. Sun covers Jack's hand with hers over the keys. He looks up at her and finds a soft, friendly smile on her face. He can't help but smile back.
“Will you play for me?” she asks. It’s an almost hesitant request, because she can see how tender Jack is feeling at the moment. But she longs to hear the music flow out from under Jack’s fingers and surrounds them both. She can tell, however, that it's what Jack wants as well.
Jack gazes at her for a few moments before his head drops and he nods a few times, saying, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He lifts his hands and lowers them a few times, and Sun notices, in a half-second glance, that Jack's hands are shaking. He straightens them out, with a deep sigh.
When his hands finally fall on the keys, they’re stead, and when the music begins to flow out of the piano, it encompasses the both of them. Jack plays like he never stopped, like his last lesson was yesterday. Sun closes her eyes, enthralled, and puts her hands on her stomach.
She feels Jack’s eyes on her, and he seems encouraged by her reaction, because his playing becomes more intricate, more powerful. The music swells and when the song climaxes, then fades away, Sun lets out a breath that she had never realized that she was holding in.
“Thank you,” she sighs out, like a long, cleansing breath. She leans her head on Jack's shoulder, and her eyes close once more.
“You’re welcome,” Jack replies, softly, almost as low as a whisper. He reaches out, holding one of the hands resting on top of Sun’s stomach. He kisses her forehead, thinking, for the first time all night, that he may be able to sleep.