Pairing: Steve and Bucky; shades of Steve/Bucky if you squint
Tags/Trigger Warnings: blanket tag for Bucky Barnes mental health and kidnapping issues, mutual angst and pining
[Inspired by The Heart Asks Pleasure First from the soundtrack for The Piano.]
The common lounge of Avengers Tower was deserted and shadowed; a rarity, but perhaps not entirely unusual considering it was 0245. PTSD- and nightmare-plagued insomniacs the Avengers may be, but even they needed to sleep sometimes [yes, Natalia, even you].
Normally, of course, FRIDAY would have turned on the lights when someone entered the common lounge. But the room's sole occupant had requested they stay off in a ragged voice gone hoarse from screaming. FRIDAY had acquiesced with a quiet murmur, activating the privacy protocols when prompted to do so.
The darkness suited him. The lights didn't need to be on; there was more than enough ambient light filtering in from the streets below. More than enough light, even without his enhanced vision. He didn't need to see what he was doing from muscle memory.
Long, clever fingers ran over ivory keys. Pianist's hands, his ma used to say [doctor's hands, his da would retort]. He always had an ear for music. He used to play at the dance halls and bars; it had been good and easy money. But that had been untrained, self-taught fooling around with jazz riffs and dance music; never like this.
Rolling, complex phrases, following one after another like waves on the beach. Relentless, inexorable tides of emotion, pouring out like a limitless ocean.
They used to make the Asset play piano, in order to teach it fine motor control of the arm. Highly advanced, technically complex pieces of the masters. The Asset was never allowed to improvise, or to compose anything itself [Rule One: Assets have no emotion].
He still remembers how to play them.
He wonders if it's a bad thing that he loves to play them, to close his eyes and lose himself in the gorgeous melodies.
No one who resides on the Avengers' floors ever touches the piano; he's not even sure why it's there. It's a beautiful instrument; a Steinway baby grand, the best money can buy. To his surprise, it is not brand-new. There are scratches, evidence of condensation rings, a worn patina. Worn gold letters on the fallboard spell out MCCS in fine calligraphy. Research indicates that the piano may have come from Stark Mansion; this says more about Tony Stark than he is willing to think about at fuck-dark-thirty.
In the middle of the night, when he is shaken awake by another bout of nightmares, he will sneak his way downstairs, order FRIDAY to engage maximum privacy protocols, and he will play whatever comes into his head.
Tonight, he does not want to play Rimsky-Korsakov or Rachmaninoff or Scriabin. Tonight, in the darkness and privacy, he can close his eyes and play his own music. Here, where no one will hear, he can unburden his heart and make his silent confession.
Hidden in the shadows on the threshold, Steve watches, heart clenching at the painful beauty of the music. It pulls at something inside him; all those emotions he keeps so carefully unlabeled, unexamined, and ruthlessly hidden away.
God, Buck- no, not right; James, now- could draw out all of his secrets with music like this.
He would step forward and reveal himself, but… Despite the melancholy music, James' eyes are closed in contentment. He looks more peaceful than Steve's seen him in this new century; he wouldn't dare disturb that peace, not for all the tea in China.
[Of course James would look peaceful. The music is about Steve.]