It just sat there, mocking him. It was quiet and irksome, like it had been since his childhood. Then, it had been foreboding; a bore and a useless toy which however much his mother pressed for him to play with, had always just gathered dust.
Don sat down, his fingertips hovering above the smooth white keys. Voices hummed from the next room where his father, his team and all of the mathematicians who came along with them were gathered merrily in the garage, surveying Charlie's baby photographs. Which of course, they found hilarious.
They had started at Charlie's Princeton photos, and worked their way back. Don had left, too embarrassed to watch beyond Charlie's birth, knowing that what was in the next album was a five year old Don naked in the paddling pool.
As the good humoured clamour rose up from the nearby garage, he knew that his father had brought out the album in question, and concentrated harder and wholly on those shining keys.
He ran his fingertips lightly over their level, reflective surface, not applying enough pressure to make a noise. There was no music to play, except for a couple of his mother's old compositions and primitive versions of Christmas carols and movie theme tunes which the Eppes brothers had used in their despised piano sessions with Mrs. Petrie.
He shifted his weight and racked his brains for songs which he knew well, accidentally pressing down a few keys in the process.
The odd combination of notes was accompanied by a brief snippet of nostalgia; suddenly, he remembered something.
Rummaging around in the half full crate of music sheets and plastic bound books, he finally pulled one out. It was old and creased around the edges, as though it had been handled many times before. There was no title, but he immediately recognised the compilation of notes splayed artistically across the thick paper, and the song lyrics scribbled underneath.
Don began to play. It was rough, of course. He had not read piano music in years, and he had not actually played a piano in possibly even longer. He didn't think that this music had ever been published, but as the tune began to take form, and stir strong emotive memories deep within his chest, Don thought that it was better than any other song that he had ever heard which had.
It was the most beautiful sound that he had ever heard, and he had heard many songs before. It was the sweet, tangy melody of the lullaby Margaret Eppes had composed that caught him, leaving him breathless after every consecutive note.
That wonderful, whole sound seeped through the thick walls of Charlie's house, through from the living room to the garage to the attic and the bedrooms. Everyone heard it, even Colby and David's grenade affected ears picked up the gentle sound waves as they enchanted the house in a mellow spell.
"What-?" Nikki trailed off, listening to the tune as it took over her too. Alan smiled, fondly, at the wall through which the sound was emanating.
"Donnie's found the piano." He said, almost proudly. "He doesn't play much." The agents cocked their heads to the side, listening though simultaneously feeling as if they were intruding on their boss' privacy. Granted, Don must know that they were listening, but all the same, they felt awkward at how personal the moment was, and how soulful the music was.
"This is a song that Margaret used to sing to him when he was little. But not to Charlie." Alan explained, to all who were listening. Charlie smiled in his trademark lopsided way. "Charlie hated it, he cried so much whenever it was played. Don loved it, so it really just became his lullaby."
"It's beautiful." Nikki said softly, eyes not moving from the wall where the notes were resonating. "Do you think he'd mind if I..." Alan shook his head, smiling.
"Not if he doesn't know you're there!" Mouth turned into a gentle smile, Nikki crept through to the other room.
Alan sighed and turned his attention back to the photo albums. The others slowly followed, blocking out the song. They barely noticed when Nikki slipped through the house, coming to stop a few metres behind Don.
But, having worked with him for about six months now, she should have known better than to presume sneaking up on Don Eppes was easy – or in fact possible.
He jumped as she approached; his fingers jarring and making the keys clatter suddenly. He instinctively moved his hand to his waistband, where his weapon would be was he dressed for work. He relaxed as soon as she spoke.
"Sorry boss." He remained facing straight ahead, frozen in his sitting position.
"Nikki, don't sneak up on me." He hissed, embarrassed to be caught off guard. She smiled, and moved forwards, slowly and deliberately, until she was diagonal to his right shoulder. She cocked her head at the music propped up on the stand.
"A piece by Margaret Eppes?" He nodded, but still did not resume his playing.
"Yeah." Sighing, he dropped his hands from the keyboard so they fell to the piano stool, helping him stand up. She immediately placed one hand on each of his shoulders, preventing just that. "Betanc-" He began to warn, but shut up as he tipped back his head and saw the expression on her face.
"Play it again." She said, softly, and he raised his eyebrows at the tenderness in her voice. Nikki swept her gaze across the music then back up to admire his chiselled features. "I like it."
One side of his mouth twisted up into a lopsided smiled, and he turned his attention back to the keys, breaking their intensive stare. The absence of his deep brown eyes took her balance away from her and she had to fight to stay upright.
He played a few wrong keys, attempting to find his place in the midst of the vast keyboard and the avalanche of notes scrawled across the sheet. He eventually settled his fingertips to their appropriate places. His hands seemed to fit the song perfectly, as if he was made for it.
The notes ran their course like a happy memory; familiarity having ground them deep into his subconscious.
Sitting down on the very edge of his piano stool, she gently sang the words on the music sheet, feeling where they were in the song.
His fingers faltered ever so slightly, and the tune slowed, but he soon surpassed his surprise and they flowed freely again, just as flawless and untameable as before. The tune was like a ripe fruit – sweet and mellow at first, with a strong tangy undertone which ran through every nerve in the human body.
The beauty of the song was lost on those merely listening. To understand the true meaning, and the true heart and soul which had been poured into the handsome melody, one had to be part of the music. Nikki's voice rose, so it could be heard combined with Don's notes throughout the house, their volumes complementary.
Don remembered the words, verbatim, just like they had been uttered yesterday, from when his mother had sang them. The bittersweet melody was familiar, and the flashes of comfortable nostalgia ran warm shudders down his spine.
The piano stool was small and their bodies were touching. The energy and the passion from their lullaby coursed through the empty room, filling it with small fractions of bright, golden memories. They moved as one; relying on each other's involvement and rhythm to release their own.
The sweetness of the tune seeped through the now silent house, attracting the undivided attention of the garage's occupants. They even came in, to see the show, though they left upon realising that the show wasn't for them. They left to leave the musicians to themselves, exiting quietly through the back and going their separate ways.
The song was renewed; the loop ran through seamlessly and they followed it, for it was part of them now. The delicious memory of the complementary notes would forever be imprinted on the inside of their skulls. And the feeling of calm surrender, and complete emotional nakedness they felt in that moment in time was so strong and so surreal that they knew it wasn't likely to be going anytime soon either.
He glanced sideways, at her close proximity, glancing back to the music stand every few seconds. He felt the keys. He didn't have to look at them.
Her voluminous hair tickled his cheek as she looked back at the music, although the words remained burnt into her brain like a well kept secret.
The notes faltered, and the reverie was broken; her voice faded with the magical glow of memories concentrating themselves around the picture frames all around the room. He stared at her, as if there was something that he was meaning to say.
"You sing well." Finally, he attempted words. She smiled, bumping his shoulder lightly with hers, playfully.
"You play well." She countered, modestly. Silence was dominant, though there was great spiritual comfort in their silence.
Don slowly withdrew his hands from the keys and let one fall behind her, catching his thumb on the edge of the seat.
"Thanks." He said softly, letting his eyes investigate every crevice, corner and feature of her youthful, stunning face. Bringing up her own hand in a daze, she touched his cheek tenderly, almost unable to articulate words.
Don closed his eyes, the sweet emotion of her movement touching him deeper than she would ever know, and leant his face into her touch lovingly, inhaling her intoxicating scent of pomegranates and raspberries. He recognised the smell, countless times had she passed him in the parking lot, sat by him across from a suspect and handed him files in the office, all the while with that unique exotic aroma of pomegranates and raspberries.
She rested her head gently on his, forehead to forehead, and the tips of their noses touched.
Taking his hand off the stool behind her and the other off of his lap, he steadily encircled her waist with his thick, strong arms, holding her even closer, if possible, than before. She squirmed, onto his lap, leaning her head back onto his shoulder so they could look eye to eye.
Bringing her mouth close to his, teasingly, she spoke delicately into his cheek.
"Play me more." He opened his big brown eyes and stared down at her.
"Okay..." He drawled, running his hands briefly down her arms, using them as a bridge to the keyboard. "What do you wanna hear?"
"You know what I wanna hear."
"You wanna hear that song again?" She twisted again, so they were once more facing, and kissed the corner of his mouth lightly.
"Yeah. It's pretty."
He smiled into her hair and struck up the tune again, this time unaccompanied by Nikki's vocals. It started gradually – it was not a song which could be entered from the second verse. It built up steadily, until it was stronger and more vibrant than ever before.
The song once again filled the house. The gentle tune caressed the pictures by the stairs, stroking the delicate frames with its nostalgic notes. The melody visited Don's old, small bedroom, somewhere it had not been to, coming up to thirty years.
It was welcomed back with open arms, because Margaret Eppes composed this lullaby thirty-six years ago, when her newborn baby boy couldn't sleep through the dark. It was a song made to calm and to soothe. Simple and pretty; assorted noises and bangs and clashes on the large white keys which, once combined in just the right way, became something beautiful.
The song played to its end, tall and strong until that last sweet note. Then, the buzzing atmosphere faded to nothingness; silent, with failing warmth. The house was quiet once more, though still echoing with the melodic memory, and Nikki took her partner's hand. The spaces between her fingers were right where his fit perfectly.
"Let's go home, baby." She pressed her lips to his mouth, her voice merely a whisper amongst the echoes of his recollections. "You've remembered enough for tonight." She kissed his jawbone and smiled up at him.
"Yeah." He agreed, though it felt like leaving an old friend, when they had only just been reintroduced. "Let's go home." They left like ghosts in the night, not disturbing Don's brother or father in their deep slumber up the stairs.
The Eppes house was hushed once more, the memories giggling and dancing in the shadows like joyous fireflies, being released from a jam jar. They flew, flitted and glowed with that uplifting golden light, chucking and cheerful, from picture frame to picture frame, eventually coming to rest on the majestic keys of the grand piano, soaking into them like water into soil.
Until next time.
Yes, for those of you who may have noticed the occasional references to lyrics, this fic was inspired by "Fireflies" by Owl City, just after the first time I had heard it. Read and review if you noticed...