A/N: This fic relies heavily on music, so please visit the links noted to hear each musical accompaniment.

She didn't believe in ghosts because she knew better. That didn't make this late night trek less scary than it turned out to be. She had left her key at her desk and only upon returning to her flat after an exhausting overtime shift did she realize this. So back to the Division she was forced to go, weathering the heavy downpour and crackle of lightning overhead.

Ghosts weren't horrifying, mutilated monsters (well sometimes they were but those cases were circumstantial) or translucent white sheets. They just happened to be roaming souls that for some reason or another had not gone to their rest. The Division had a handful of them that stuck around despite being judged centuries ago. 'To keep things in order', they would say to whomever happened to gather up the courage to ask.
This meant that the London Division was never quite devoid of company, even late at night when Grell Sutcliff found herself treading as quiet a path through the long hallways as she could manage whilst wishing her heels would stop making such a god-awful noise with each step.

'Forgot somethin', poppet?' Grell clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a loud shriek, shivering violently when an icy touch grasped her shoulder. She snuck a gaze at the owner.
"Yes Director Grayson- left my house key at my desk, silly sod that I am."
'On your way then, and mind you don't disturb William.'
"Of course sir, I-" Grell blinked, "what do you mean disturb William?" But no one remained by her side.

The key was right where she had left it: nestled in the top drawer and tied with a velvet ribbon. With a sigh of relief she tucked it into her pocket before the sting of curiosity became too sharp to bear. Whatever did the past Director mean, leaving William undisturbed? What was that man still doing here nearing midnight? Even overtime seemed far too unreasonable an explanation.

It was in her stillness that she finally heard, there just there over the sound of relentless rain and purring thunder; music. The piano, for there was only one and it resided in the Recreation room, was being played by a very fleshly being not hiding in Grell's night-induced paranoia.

And there he was; William T. Spears sat at the grand piano by the large, arching bay windows drenched in candlelight and racing his slender fingers up and down the keys. The black leather that usually hid his hands lay draped atop the piano, along with a few files Grell guessed to be more paperwork.
Leaning against the doorway, she found herself smiling as she closed her eyes and just listened to him play. Without sight she could imagine a very different pianist thundering the notes of Brahm's Piano Sonata*. Allegro, this piece's tempo demanded, and it was a word Grell could not see herself connecting to William.

"Allegro," Grell raised her voice so William noticed her and paused in his playing, "means joy in Italian." She took a seat beside him at the piano, watching the ghosts of emotions touch the very corners of his eyes, his lips, his brows. A mixture of surprise, embarrassment and indignation.
"What are you doing here, Sutcliff?" Compared to his musical recital, the way he recited words sounded flat and lifeless. The same mechanized response, over and over and over... Grell flicked through the music book open on the stand.
"I left my key at my desk by accident. What are you doing here, Spears?" She turned the question back on him and he frowned.
"I like to use the grand piano here. I have no room at my flat for one."
"I didn't know you could play." Grell inspected his face quizzically.
"You never asked. I took Music as my extra-curricular when you took Theatre back at the Academy." William straightened his cuffs and his glasses out of habit. Grell replaced the music book on the stand. He studied the music.
"I cannot play this."
"Rachmaninoff is a staple, Spears." Grell teased. William shot him a look of irritation.
"Opus 11, number 2** is a duet, Sutcliff."
"I know." She laughed, plucking off her gloves. "So let's see if we can last three minutes in civility?"

And he found that they could.

*Box . net /shared / zjce8dt53o

**Box . net / shared / xg4kp9ut5u