The simple facts of life are such, they cannot be removed; by magistrate
Title: The simple facts of life are such, they cannot be removed
Author: magistrate (draegonhawke)
Word count: Approx. 600
Rating/Warning: PG.
Continuity: Follows Meridian and Revelations.
Prompt: #171. Team (any). Daniel's piano.
Notes: One-hour-or-less ficlet. AND NOW I SHOULD GO CATCH A PLANE. ...I suppose it's only fitting that I write myself out of the ficathon with the same characters I wrote myself into it with. It's been lovely ficcing with you all.
=
Breaking into Daniel's apartment was Carter's job, as Daniel could never be relied upon to keep a spare key in a sensible place and Jack could never be relied upon to remember where his copy was. It was the sort of thing Jack suspected he should have found odd, but he was burnt out on oddness, these past few days.
"Got it," Carter said, standing up and sliding the lockpicks back into her pocket. She eased the door open, and they stepped inside.
Daniel's apartment was a controlled chaos of books and journals and artifacts, post-it notes and pencils, old, drained cups of coffee and the occasional shoe resting somewhere improbable like the arm of a couch or wedged between a wall and an end table. Russell and Norvig's Artificial Intelligence: A Modern Approach was sitting on a table in the entryway, and Jack flipped it over idly. "What are we going to do with all this stuff?"
Carter wandered over to one of the shelves, pulling out one of the journals. She didn't open it, though; the last time, Daniel had turned out not to be dead. This time, they knew he wasn't dead, and that didn't make anything any less awkward. "I think most of the writing can go into the SGC archives," she said. "Do we know if any of these are offworld artifacts?"
"It wouldn't surprise me," Jack said, and rang a fingernail against a bronze statuette. "I think he had a rule about only taking stuff with Earth analogs, though."
"So a museum is probably out," Carter said, mostly to herself.
Jack poked his head into the kitchen, took in the half-full dishwasher and half-full shelves, and wandered back out again. He paused at the baby grand which took up half of the second-bedroom-turned-reading-room, and Carter came up beside him.
"We could sell it," she said, uncertainly. "I'm sure we could find a charity he'd want to support."
"Hm," Jack said, and slid onto the bench. He poised his hands above the keys, testing the finish. Could have been real ivory. "I don't suppose you play, Major?"
"Never learned," Carter said. "I always dreamed of playing the cello."
Jack plunked down a key, and then another. Then a few more. He could see, out of the corner of his eyes, Carter drawing up closer.
"You play?"
He let his hands rest. "It was one of those things people wanted me to learn," he said. "I haven't tried in ages."
Carter was quiet for a moment. "Do you still remember anything?"
He shrugged. Then, slowly and with rust on every note, tried playing.
A few bars in, Carter smiled.
"This day and age we're living in
Gives cause for apprehension
With speed and new invention
And things like fourth dimension.
Yet we get a trifle weary
With Mr. Einstein's theory.
So we must get down to earth at times..."
She wasn't singing, just reciting the words, and not even to the rhythm of the music. Jack stopped, took his hands away from the keys, and closed the cover.
"Sell it," Jack said. "It wouldn't get any use with any of us." He stood again, nudging the piano bench back under the piano with his foot.
There was a moment, and Carter said, "Yes, sir."
Jack walked to the other side of the room, where a shelf held sheet music and wood polish and a few books by Budge with more post-it notes than pages, and caught a reflection in the window of Carter drawing her fingers over the key cover, as though checking for dust. Jack thumbed through the music for a moment, and turned back.
"Next room," he said, and glanced back to the piano as she went by.
- END -
Author: magistrate (draegonhawke)
Word count: Approx. 600
Rating/Warning: PG.
Continuity: Follows Meridian and Revelations.
Prompt: #171. Team (any). Daniel's piano.
Notes: One-hour-or-less ficlet. AND NOW I SHOULD GO CATCH A PLANE. ...I suppose it's only fitting that I write myself out of the ficathon with the same characters I wrote myself into it with. It's been lovely ficcing with you all.
=
Breaking into Daniel's apartment was Carter's job, as Daniel could never be relied upon to keep a spare key in a sensible place and Jack could never be relied upon to remember where his copy was. It was the sort of thing Jack suspected he should have found odd, but he was burnt out on oddness, these past few days.
"Got it," Carter said, standing up and sliding the lockpicks back into her pocket. She eased the door open, and they stepped inside.
Daniel's apartment was a controlled chaos of books and journals and artifacts, post-it notes and pencils, old, drained cups of coffee and the occasional shoe resting somewhere improbable like the arm of a couch or wedged between a wall and an end table. Russell and Norvig's Artificial Intelligence: A Modern Approach was sitting on a table in the entryway, and Jack flipped it over idly. "What are we going to do with all this stuff?"
Carter wandered over to one of the shelves, pulling out one of the journals. She didn't open it, though; the last time, Daniel had turned out not to be dead. This time, they knew he wasn't dead, and that didn't make anything any less awkward. "I think most of the writing can go into the SGC archives," she said. "Do we know if any of these are offworld artifacts?"
"It wouldn't surprise me," Jack said, and rang a fingernail against a bronze statuette. "I think he had a rule about only taking stuff with Earth analogs, though."
"So a museum is probably out," Carter said, mostly to herself.
Jack poked his head into the kitchen, took in the half-full dishwasher and half-full shelves, and wandered back out again. He paused at the baby grand which took up half of the second-bedroom-turned-reading-room, and Carter came up beside him.
"We could sell it," she said, uncertainly. "I'm sure we could find a charity he'd want to support."
"Hm," Jack said, and slid onto the bench. He poised his hands above the keys, testing the finish. Could have been real ivory. "I don't suppose you play, Major?"
"Never learned," Carter said. "I always dreamed of playing the cello."
Jack plunked down a key, and then another. Then a few more. He could see, out of the corner of his eyes, Carter drawing up closer.
"You play?"
He let his hands rest. "It was one of those things people wanted me to learn," he said. "I haven't tried in ages."
Carter was quiet for a moment. "Do you still remember anything?"
He shrugged. Then, slowly and with rust on every note, tried playing.
A few bars in, Carter smiled.
"This day and age we're living in
Gives cause for apprehension
With speed and new invention
And things like fourth dimension.
Yet we get a trifle weary
With Mr. Einstein's theory.
So we must get down to earth at times..."
She wasn't singing, just reciting the words, and not even to the rhythm of the music. Jack stopped, took his hands away from the keys, and closed the cover.
"Sell it," Jack said. "It wouldn't get any use with any of us." He stood again, nudging the piano bench back under the piano with his foot.
There was a moment, and Carter said, "Yes, sir."
Jack walked to the other side of the room, where a shelf held sheet music and wood polish and a few books by Budge with more post-it notes than pages, and caught a reflection in the window of Carter drawing her fingers over the key cover, as though checking for dust. Jack thumbed through the music for a moment, and turned back.
"Next room," he said, and glanced back to the piano as she went by.
- END -