DISCLAIMER: They weren't mine yesterday, and they're not mine today either.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:Not a song-fic, but shamelessly inspired by hearing Marc Antony's You Sang to Me. (And I guess it is a song-fic 'cause it's a fic about song, right?)
Her singing reassures him.
It's odd that he should think that, odd that when he first has that thought he thinks, That's it. That's why hearing her voice lifted up in song just... gets him. It's like a security blanket, that she sings around him because she trusts him.
She used to sing in the lab. He'd walk into a room and she'd be in there, singing quietly, half unaware that she was doing it. It was always incongruous, but it always made him smile. There'd be a quick startled look on her face, then she'd brush off any praise he tried to give. She wasn't good at accepting praise for things she hadn't worked for. But then she just stopped singing, and he didn't even notice until one day when he suddenly thought about it and wondered.
Now he thinks he knows why. He's had an idea forming in his head since, well, since he started noticing her smile and her eyes and the many different tones of her voice. Since the first times he saw her out of the lab, the first times she took him home, the first times they woke up together, talking over and around the awkwardness until it stopped being awkward and started bordering on blissful. Ever since some indefinible point somewhere during those times, he's been realising why she stopped singing in the lab, and that reason is intimately linked to the fact hearing her sing now reassures him.
Sara stopped singing in the lab when she stopped having anything to sing about.
Now she sings around her apartment, around his house, and once or twice he's caught her singing in the lab again. He's not sure who else has caught her in the lab, because he really doubts he's the only one, but when it's him she blushes and won't catch his eye and he laughs gently, because she's beautiful like that, and he's crazy in love.
She has a nice singing voice, soft, light, lilting. She sings seventies songs, of which she has a wonderful repertoire, and jazz, blues, country, musical numbers, even some gospel. She'll sing pop songs when she thinks she's alone, and he can't help laughing at those because it seems so odd for her to be singing Britney Spears songs. He doesn't like Britney Spears, but if it's Sara singing he could listen all day.
She sings love songs, too. She sings them in the shower, and sometimes he stands outside the door and listens and other times he goes in and gets in the shower with her, and by the time he's in she's stopped singing and she looks a little bit sheepish, and they stand there and smile and let the water run over them, washing everything else away.
What he loves most is when she sings in bed. They'll just be lying there, half asleep or whatever, and she'll find some song that's just perfect somewhere in her copious memory, and start singing, her voice so quiet sometimes it's barely more than a whisper, because she's singing for him and for them. He lies there holding her, and she fills what tiny gaps there are between their bodies with song. Their skin touches, breath mingles, and there's something about Sara singing that makes him feel that everything will all be all right, that they're here, together, protected, that everything outside their bedroom can't touch them.
And here, together, song swirling about them, expressing what they can't say in their own words, they don't have to think about the outside world. She's singing because she trusts him, because she loves him, because she knows how he feels about her. It's her gesture to peace and happiness in a world where sometimes it seems like that's in short supply.
And in these moments, that's all that matters.
She sings.
THE END