(Untitled)

[mentalistjane]

It had been a long time since Patrick Jane had been to the tiny hut called home. So after he had spent time with both Daniel and Cole, and found out there were no more therapists left on the island to help him with his own particular 'issues', well, there really was nothing left to do but go home, and clean up what remained of his life

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[coffee_sir]

Tuesdays he went berry picking. Coffee berries to be specific. He'd sort them and soak them and dry them, but they still needed to be roasted. And that was what Wednesdays were for. Ianto waited until the breakfast shift was done, claimed two burners for himself and set to work, usually finishing with more than enough time for the dinner cook to come in and take over. So it was that he was just cleaning up after himself, in fact wiping his hands on a dish cloth, when Ianto heard the music trickle in from the other room.

He moved to the open doorway, tossing the towel aside before leaning on the frame, and listened to the song. More importantly, he watched how Patrick played. Just seeing the man in the rec room reassured Ianto somewhat -- he wasn't hiding any more -- but he didn't look happy with his life. Ianto hadn't thought he would be, but it was unfortunate to see his worries become reality.

"You play well," he remarked, pushing off the wall and strolling closer to man and piano.

[mentalistjane]

"My wife always loved music." Patrick said quietly, as he continued to press keys down, lightly and evenly. He closed his eyes tightly as he played, letting himself remember the music instead of remembering how to play. "She always knew the exact song to sing when I need to clear my head."

He kept on playing, but he did finally open his eyes after a minute to look at the other man. "But the piano ... that was my territory. I can't sing a lick, but I could play, and she was the only one I really loved playing for - until our daughter was born."

[coffee_sir]

Hearing the way Patrick talked about his wife -- just the tone he used -- reminded Ianto of him and Lisa. He rarely ever spoke of her now, and rarely ever did even when he first arrived on the island, but the memory and the emotions remained.

He rested an idle hand on the piano, fingers skimming an edge. "She'd be happy to hear you playing then," Ianto said. "Even if not for her."

[mentalistjane]

"Perhaps ... yes, I suppose she would. She always liked to see me smile." Patrick kept playing, his gaze going distant and sad. "And I always smiled when I played for her. Sort of a circle of sentimentality that I rarely engage in, these days."

He was silent for a few moments, remembering his wife with a warm, bittersweet taste lasting in the back of his mouth. After a moment, he stopped playing, and looked up to Ianto. "What is it about remembering that makes it so much worse?"

[gonewiththereap]

Daisy leans against the door, fingers brushing against the frame and she tries not to intrude, but she's been intruding on peoples' lives all her time as a reaper, so why on earth would she ever stop now? "You know anything from the roaring forties?" she asks curiously, still standing a couple feet behind him.

[mentalistjane]

Patrick's lips quirked in a quiet, almost unobtrusive smile, before he looked up from the piano. "Pick something, and I'll see if I can put together the notes." He played for another moment or two. "So, are you going to yell at me for disappearing on you too, or ... is this, of all things, a social call?"

[gonewiththereap]

Daisy's eyes go slightly wide and she blinks once, twice, then three times. "You were gone?" It's probably her own fault for being reclusive all on her own pretty self's ticket when Max and Jude went the way of everyone that's ever crossed her path, but it has left her slightly far from noticing the movement of others. "Know anything by the Andrews Sisters?"

[mentalistjane]

"I was gone. And now, I know someone who is less social than I am, and I didn't think it was at all possible." Patrick started playing the Andrews Sisters, a jumpy little tune called 'Bugle Boy,', even a smile curved over his face..

[patriotqueen]

The tune was dismal by itself, but there was something in the way the notes were carried that made it sound more funerary than usual.

It was a surprise to Guy to find it being played by Patrick.

And it wasn't due to the dreariness, or due to the sadness in the long notes, the bowed head, but the fact that it was Patrick. This meant - in a very obvious way - that he was still on the island.

Somehow, not a fibre in Guy's body was extaticly pleased at the news. "Well, fuck me. He lives," he remarked sardonically instead.

[mentalistjane]

Patrick paused for a moment, recognizing that sarcastic, British voice anywhere. He pressed his lips together briefly, but kept playing the slow and lovely tune, gathering his thoughts. He picked up on the one that mattered, and stated simply.

"I hear I owe you an apology."

[patriotqueen]

Guy didn't quite see it that way. "You owe Daniel an apology and I do expect you have given it to him by now. Or have you come here to play in the hope to see him flood to your side?"

[mentalistjane]

"I've already spoken to Daniel, yes, and apologized. He's talking to me, nothing more." Patrick kept playing, and not turning around to look at the other man. He already knew Guy looked furious, and unless the man wanted to push it, Patrick was happy hiding behind the music for once.

[anger_sideways]

Hawkeye was actually heading to the clothes box to get some clean socks, and had intended to steadfastly avoid the rec room and all its troublesome furniture, but the melancholy music drew him in despite himself.

He wandered through and stood near the man playing the piano, waiting in appreciative silence.

"Now, was that Clair de Lune or Fur Elise?" he asked, as the music drew to an end. "I always get the two names mixed up, if not the songs. Either way, that was beautiful."

[mentalistjane]

"Clair de Lune. Fur Elise tends to have more bass." Patrick said quietly, before he lifted his head to look at the spare man standing near to him. He straightened a little, blinking but managed a quiet smile. "You're new. Of course, I'm oldish and now new again, so really, so I'm just a little behind the times."

[anger_sideways]

"Oldish and new again," Hawkeye mused, recalling a conversation he'd had a few weeks back. "I think I might be that too. Apparently there was another version of me here once, and he slept with somebody's mother. But this version of me doesn't know anything about that. Which is a shame, as I'm told she was a fox."

He moved to lean against the side of the piano, elbow resting on the top of it, and extended his free hand to be shaken.

"I'm Hawkeye, and I've been here a little over two months. How about you?"

[mentalistjane]

"Well, it's considerably shameful that you can't remember a fox. Especially one you got lucky with." Patrick said with a faint smile, as he started to play something new - one of Cole's. He played a few more bars, before he stopped, and shook the other man's hand.

"I'm Patrick Jane - and I've been here, ooooh, nearly a year now. Except two months ago I had a panic attack and left. Ran, really, in the forest. I just recently re-emerged and became civilized again."

[fatalpride]

Strangely enough, visiting the rec room has become something of a habit for Annabeth. Or more specifically, visiting the bookshelf in the rec room. It signified unlimited knowledge at her fingertips - although not always the knowledge she had hoped the find.

Now if only she could read half of it.

Today is different. Today she feels as though she's intruding on a private moment, walking in during the man's solitary and impromptu recital.

The bookshelf isn't co-operating with her today (in fact, it's sprouting a lot of glossy teen magazines featuring pretty girls in party dresses and promises of the secret to beauty inside. Something Annabeth isn't particularly interested in.

"What's the name of the song?"

[mentalistjane]

"Clair de Lune. It's by Debussy." Patrick glanced over to the young woman, and one eyebrow raised in faint surprise. Young, pretty, not the kind that would usually sit and listen to a middle-aged man play. So she must have come in for the books, stayed for the music ... by God, it was hard to turn off his brain. He turned back to the keyboard and kept playing.

"Do you know any of the classics, or is this your first exposure?"

[fatalpride]

She hadn't lived in what was known as the 'outside world' since the age of seven, and so was probably more familiar with lyre tunes or whatever the Apollo kids felt like singing that particular week. Annabeth shakes her head.

"Chi- the person who raised me was more likely to listen to the Greatest Hits of Dean Martin than anything else." she almost laughs but also rolls her eyes, missing Chiron more than she would admit.

With a frustrated sigh, Annabeth puts all of the books offered by the bookshelf back.

[mentalistjane]

He spun around on his seat to look at her, blue eyes watching her quietly. "The classics are what made Deano possible - not to mention every single artist to follow him. Basic musical and mathematical patterns, copied over and over again, to create new and better music. Weeeell, sometimes. I really don't understand the appeal of Hannah Montana."