Warehouse 13
Cleena
Imagine your OTP where person A plays piano in their free time. When person A gets into a horrible accident, they're left with amnesia. Person B visits them every day and talks to them even though person A no longer remembers them. When person B finds a piece written by person A for them, they teach themselves to play it, and one day they perform it for person A in the hospital.
Unplayed piano still holds a tune
Lock on the lid in a stale, stale room
Maybe it's not that easy
Or maybe it's not that hard
You run your fingers over the ivory keys. Your muscles tense as you prepare to play, but you hold back.
You let your head fall forward and close your eyes.
This is it, the last mystery she left behind. The last piece of who she used to be that you can still discover. If you play, there is no going back.
You look up at the sheet music. Your eyes follow the notes across the page. They jump up and down, moving to some tune she had worked relentlessly to get out of her head.
You had woken up multiple times to an empty bed because part of the music had become clear and she had left to write it down. You had walked in countless times to her testing a few cords, only for her to stop abruptly.
It's for you, she had explained each time with a shy smile, so you can't hear it until it's done.
You had accepted the answer, but she hadn't finished it before you had died.
Before something had taken control of Artie.
Before it had made him kill you.
Before Claudia…
You lower your head again.
God, Claudia.
You still can't forget the way she had looked at you when she had woken up in the hospital room - Who are you? Why are you in my room? - the confusion clear in her eyes still haunts you.
You shake your head to get rid of the memory.
Memory… That is the issue. In bringing you back – though how, nobody has figured out yet – Claudia lost her memories.
She just wanders around the Bed and Breakfast now, confused and lost. Everyone had talked to her, shown her all of her stuff, tried every thing thought up, but nothing had helped.
You had found the music on accident one night, and had been surprised to find it completed.
Desperate, you had asked Artie – he still can't look directly at you – to teach you to play.
You have done nothing but practice for months now. You are far from good, but believe yourself good enough to at least attempt her creation.
Faced with the final task, however, you are hesitant to go through with it.
You take a deep breath, and read the music again.
You can do it. You have to do it.
Your fingers begin to press out the notes.
They start out slow, due to both your inexperience and the way she had written it. It soon speeds up, however.
Emotions start to clog up your throat as the music moves through you. It fills every part of you with the emotions she had felt while pulling the tune from her head.
It is upbeat and happy. It is soft and soothing. It smoothly moves from one note to the next.
It is the love you had for each other.
Then it turns.
It becomes dark. It twists in the shadows, born from Claudia's mind after your death.
It is the pain she felt.
Yet, even in the dark, you can feel the hint of hope that just barely shines through. It dodges every tendril of shadow that threatens to extinguish it. It becomes a mad hope, finding more eccentric methods of evasion.
It is her attempts to bring you back.
It is the hope the songs ends on, and your fingers falter to a halt.
Tears are rolling freely down your face. Your body is shaking. Your breathing is ragged.
You feel her love for you. It coats you as the music still echoes in your ears.
"Leena?"
Your breath hitches at the word, so softly spoken you almost miss it.
You turn, twisting around on the bench in you need to see her.
And you know.
Everything is back in the depths of her brown eyes. The clarity. The intelligence. The spark.
The love.
"Claudia?" you choke out. Your jaw is trembling.
She nods and lets out a tense laugh.
You stand, and she is moving.
You meet in the center of the room. Your arms wrap around her as hers wrap around you. You press your face into her neck and let the sobs come unhindered.
"You're back," you husk out again, and again, and again.
"I'm back," she quietly replies each time.
Person A recognizes the tune, and it brings back memories of person B.
The title and lyrics in the beginning are from Unplayed Piano Lyrics by Damien Rice, they didn't act as an inspiration but damn, do they fit
