He used to play the piano himself, as a kid.
The funny thing about it was that unlike Elizabeth, the so-called lessons he'd gone through had been somewhat forced, though not exactly. He'd played, a few of his cousins had…It seemed to have been one of those required things: if he was going to be at his aunt Molly's on Staten Island, then he was going to play. He'd resented it at first, but when he got older, it had started to become some kind of escape. His friends could laugh if they wanted to, but if he could help it, he wasn't about to go home after school.
The thing about this, though, is that he hadn't had to worry while he learned how to play.
He closes the lid to the piano that sits in the living room with an unnecessary force, because he wants to get rid of it, but at the same time, he doesn't. It came from Molly, the same way his cousin Mike's had when Molly had decided that a new one was in order for her own place. She taught kids how to play on Staten Island, where she still lived. It was a way to keep her mind off things, she'd said, when he'd asked her why she did it. She comes into Queens to teach Elizabeth how to play, and he knows this, and it makes him feel almost guilty that he wants his youngest child to stop.
The cases do weird things to him, and once again, he's thinking too hard about it.
"You know, you're gonna break that thing one of those days," Kathy remarks, and Elliot jumps, because he hadn't heard her walking in.
"Sorry," he says, even though he isn't. "It's just this case."
She's heard something about the details, because somehow the media got hold of it, and somehow, they're managing to sugarcoat it somehow, so it doesn't seem as bad to everyone who's listening. Sarcastic comments about this, however, are left at the precinct. The real details, the ones the media doesn't know, are ones that no one needs to know, but someone always does.
"So, you're taking it out on the piano," says Kathy, dryly. "There are better things to do, y'know."
The truth is, he does know, but doesn't particularly care.
With this in mind, he casts an almost annoyed look towards the piano and wanders off into the kitchen. She follows. It's one of those nights: late, but the two of them are both awake, she because Kathleen's managed to get the flu, and he, because he couldn't sleep, anyway.
"You know, I heard what happened," she says, confirming his suspicions. "Is that what you're worried about?"
"No," says Elliot, and means it. "I just…can't help but see it, y'know?"
The truth about this is that she does, and knows that even though his aunt is the one teaching their daughter, he's still going to think about it, because the 'what if' is always there.
"You talk to Olivia about it?" she asks, finally, when they wander back into the living room and Elliot twists the top off a bottle, taking a sip before replying.
"She's my partner," he replies, as if this is the most logical explanation in the world, and technically, it is.
But the funny thing about this is that talking to Olivia doesn't seem like enough.
"You think Lizzie would want to kill me if I told her she had to stop taking lessons?" he asks. Kathy laughs.
"No, but I think Molly might," she replies. "You heard what she said about it."
"Well, she hasn't killed me yet, and I haven't played in years now."
"Yeah, but were you ever any good at it?"
He has to laugh at this. "Would have been if I'd practiced more often," he says. Kathy rolls her eyes.
"Yeah…can't say I don't agree with that one," she tells him. "But I really don't think taking her out of lessons is going to do you any good."
She has a point. It won't. Even if he does, he's still going to think about it.
"You know, they say the unit's all volunteer for a reason," he remarks, finally, and wonders why he's going down this line. "I'm starting to see why."
"No one ever said it was going to be easy."
"I didn't think it would be. I just didn't expect it to be like this."
But life throws the unexpected more often than not. He can tell that the doors upstairs are open when he hears one of the kids coughing, but the sound disappears as quickly as it's come. He sighs.
"Sooner or later, all of them are going to have what Kathleen's got," he comments.
"Don't I know it," Kathy says wryly. "I'm surprised she's even asleep right now. She wasn't feeling too good earlier."
But Elliot is only half paying attention to what she says. He's been distracted by the piano again. And suddenly, he wants to play, even though it's that damned thing that's been bothering him ever since he got home.
"What?" he asks, when he notices Kathy watching him, and she shakes her head, looking amused.
"I didn't say anything," she replies. "You know, Liz is almost on the book you left off with."
"She's that far already?"
"You act like you were so far along." Kathy trails off and nods towards the piano. "I'm betting the kids wouldn't mind hearing you play."
"If they can even hear it. They're supposed to be asleep," Elliot remarks, but gets up and walks over anyway. The books have been left strewn across the top. He picks one up and looks at it, before flipping it open and sitting.
He doesn't realize that he's only playing one part of it, until she comes and starts to play along.