fic: STXI AU: Allegretto in A-minor
Allegretto in A-minor
Rating: G
Warning: Sad. Very, very sad.
Pairing: light Spock/Uhura
Universe note: This is an alternate universe in which the characters are members of a professional symphony. Uhura plays French horn, Spock is principal bassoon, and Kirk is their new conductor. More at the comment thread here.
Author's note: This story is based on the second movement of Beethoven's 7th symphony. If you're not familiar with it, go to YouTube or Wikipedia *right now* and listen to it. I have embedded a YouTube version under the cut, too. You may also want to have it playing during the relevant bits of the story. I'm not sure how the timing will work out, but unless you know this piece fairly well (and even if you do), I recommend actually listening.
Nyota was one of the first people to arrive at rehearsal, and noted that Morgan had already put out the parts, as she had requested to Jim. As more members arrived, she saw their startled and concerned expressions, heard their hushed whispers as they realized why this piece was on their stands -- "Oh my god, who is it?" "Do you think -- ?"
By the time Spock arrived, looking pale and gaunt, Jim was already leafing through the score and tapping time to himself. After a few more minutes of the soft shuffle of preparation, the orchestra went silent as Jim stepped onto the podium.
"You have all seen the parts that were put out for you. As you've probably guessed, we will be opening our rehearsal today with the second movement, the allegretto. We're not preparing this one for performance, but using it to honor a great loss." He took a deep breath, gathering himself. When he spoke again, his voice was shaky. "Mr. Spock lost his mother last week, the victim of a tragic accident. We're playing Beethoven's Seventh today to mourn and remember Amanda Grayson."
While they tuned, nobody could help glancing at Spock as they brought their instruments to readiness. From her seat behind him, all Nyota could see was that his music was open on the stand, and he adjusted his pitch quickly and precisely.
Jim raised his arms. The oboes, clarinets, bassoons, and horns -- including Spock and Nyota -- inhaled as one and formed the first chord, which resonated through its diminuendo until the violas, cellos, and basses came in gravely with the haunting A minor ostinato.
Nyota watched Spock while she counted her rest. The violas took the melody, then the second violins, and when the first violins began to crescendo, Spock wet his reed and prepared to play. Her part came in a few bars later, and soon the entire orchestra sang the theme from its collective soul. They crescendoed, and the resolution of the phrase quietly transitioned into the second theme, carried by the clarinets and bassoons and supported by the string section.
Where the first theme was deep and mournful, the second, in a major key, seemed quietly optimistic, as if a fond rememberence. The horn part came in, a supporting player to the smooth melodic line that rose and fell, moving through the clarinets, the oboes, and the flutes.
Everyone in the orchestra knew the piece, knew exactly how it was meant to go. And so everyone knew when the solo bassoon faltered in his descending triplet pattern.
Those triplets echoed, tumbling down through ever lower instruments. Spock held his bassoon in front of him still, as though ready to play but his head was bowed.
Nyota missed her two eighth notes as she set her horn perhaps too roughly on the floor beside her chair. In a few short steps she was at Spock's knee, crouching in front of him as the woodwinds took a floating soprano countermelody to the rhythmic first theme, repeated in the low strings. She guided his instrument to lay across his lap and pulled him into her arms.
He gripped her tightly, so tightly that she feared she might break. His face pressed into her shoulder, and as the music continued, he began to tremble.
All she could do was hold him, barely breathing as the grief ripped through them both, expressed by the orchestra in a way that they as individuals never could. Measure after measure went by, the pianissimo melody barely audible from the violins, until at last the energy began to grow, and the music crescendoed into the thunderous theme again.
Silent sobs shook Spock as they clutched one another, the storm of music raging around them. Tears streamed down her face and she found she couldn't stop, couldn't control the deluge of sadness that overtook them.
In the beat of rest at the end of the phrase, the only sound was their soft crying, and then the music came again, quietly wrapping them in its sweet melody before moving on to the ostinato again, pressing through with repeated wordless notes, until the final forte fell away into nothing, taking with it whatever strength Nyota might have had left.
The room was silent, and she was exhausted, but still knelt before Spock, comforting him in the only way she could, wrapped in his shaking arms.
After a very long pause, Jim cleared his throat and there was a familiar shuffle of sheet music and murmur of conversation as the orchestra put their things back in order. Jim was beside them when Nyota pulled back. "If you need to take some time, it's okay," he said, looking with concern at Spock.
His soft eyes were green and swollen from crying, and his face was wet. "Thank you," he managed.
Jim touched Uhura's shoulder. "You too."
She could only nod as she rose to her feet. Spock set his bassoon delicately on its open case, then accepted her guidance and they left the stage.
Rating: G
Warning: Sad. Very, very sad.
Pairing: light Spock/Uhura
Universe note: This is an alternate universe in which the characters are members of a professional symphony. Uhura plays French horn, Spock is principal bassoon, and Kirk is their new conductor. More at the comment thread here.
Author's note: This story is based on the second movement of Beethoven's 7th symphony. If you're not familiar with it, go to YouTube or Wikipedia *right now* and listen to it. I have embedded a YouTube version under the cut, too. You may also want to have it playing during the relevant bits of the story. I'm not sure how the timing will work out, but unless you know this piece fairly well (and even if you do), I recommend actually listening.
Click to viewNyota was one of the first people to arrive at rehearsal, and noted that Morgan had already put out the parts, as she had requested to Jim. As more members arrived, she saw their startled and concerned expressions, heard their hushed whispers as they realized why this piece was on their stands -- "Oh my god, who is it?" "Do you think -- ?"
By the time Spock arrived, looking pale and gaunt, Jim was already leafing through the score and tapping time to himself. After a few more minutes of the soft shuffle of preparation, the orchestra went silent as Jim stepped onto the podium.
"You have all seen the parts that were put out for you. As you've probably guessed, we will be opening our rehearsal today with the second movement, the allegretto. We're not preparing this one for performance, but using it to honor a great loss." He took a deep breath, gathering himself. When he spoke again, his voice was shaky. "Mr. Spock lost his mother last week, the victim of a tragic accident. We're playing Beethoven's Seventh today to mourn and remember Amanda Grayson."
While they tuned, nobody could help glancing at Spock as they brought their instruments to readiness. From her seat behind him, all Nyota could see was that his music was open on the stand, and he adjusted his pitch quickly and precisely.
Jim raised his arms. The oboes, clarinets, bassoons, and horns -- including Spock and Nyota -- inhaled as one and formed the first chord, which resonated through its diminuendo until the violas, cellos, and basses came in gravely with the haunting A minor ostinato.
Nyota watched Spock while she counted her rest. The violas took the melody, then the second violins, and when the first violins began to crescendo, Spock wet his reed and prepared to play. Her part came in a few bars later, and soon the entire orchestra sang the theme from its collective soul. They crescendoed, and the resolution of the phrase quietly transitioned into the second theme, carried by the clarinets and bassoons and supported by the string section.
Where the first theme was deep and mournful, the second, in a major key, seemed quietly optimistic, as if a fond rememberence. The horn part came in, a supporting player to the smooth melodic line that rose and fell, moving through the clarinets, the oboes, and the flutes.
Everyone in the orchestra knew the piece, knew exactly how it was meant to go. And so everyone knew when the solo bassoon faltered in his descending triplet pattern.
Those triplets echoed, tumbling down through ever lower instruments. Spock held his bassoon in front of him still, as though ready to play but his head was bowed.
Nyota missed her two eighth notes as she set her horn perhaps too roughly on the floor beside her chair. In a few short steps she was at Spock's knee, crouching in front of him as the woodwinds took a floating soprano countermelody to the rhythmic first theme, repeated in the low strings. She guided his instrument to lay across his lap and pulled him into her arms.
He gripped her tightly, so tightly that she feared she might break. His face pressed into her shoulder, and as the music continued, he began to tremble.
All she could do was hold him, barely breathing as the grief ripped through them both, expressed by the orchestra in a way that they as individuals never could. Measure after measure went by, the pianissimo melody barely audible from the violins, until at last the energy began to grow, and the music crescendoed into the thunderous theme again.
Silent sobs shook Spock as they clutched one another, the storm of music raging around them. Tears streamed down her face and she found she couldn't stop, couldn't control the deluge of sadness that overtook them.
In the beat of rest at the end of the phrase, the only sound was their soft crying, and then the music came again, quietly wrapping them in its sweet melody before moving on to the ostinato again, pressing through with repeated wordless notes, until the final forte fell away into nothing, taking with it whatever strength Nyota might have had left.
The room was silent, and she was exhausted, but still knelt before Spock, comforting him in the only way she could, wrapped in his shaking arms.
After a very long pause, Jim cleared his throat and there was a familiar shuffle of sheet music and murmur of conversation as the orchestra put their things back in order. Jim was beside them when Nyota pulled back. "If you need to take some time, it's okay," he said, looking with concern at Spock.
His soft eyes were green and swollen from crying, and his face was wet. "Thank you," he managed.
Jim touched Uhura's shoulder. "You too."
She could only nod as she rose to her feet. Spock set his bassoon delicately on its open case, then accepted her guidance and they left the stage.