Author's note:
This fluffy little thing came to me when I was drifting off at the library, bent over my thesis, and it insisted on being written. There are no spoilers and sort of AU in the sense that it presupposes an established relationship. It could take place some months after my long story, Confessions of a Perfectionist. But aside from sharing a certain outlook on life the two stories are completely unrelated. In other words, this is not the sexy epilogue I promised to write.
I hope you'll enjoy it none the less:)
... oh, and I also want to guide your attention to the RIZZLES AWARD being handed out soon! I'm one of the proud nominees, but I'm not suggesting you visit the web page in order to vote for me (although I would be thrilled if you did). You should visit the web page because it lists some marvellous fics and because it is a great initiative that deserves attention. You can find it here: rizzlesfanawards DOT wordpress DOT com
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MUSICAL INTERLUDE
"Trust me, Maur; you don't want me to play for you."
Jane, hands safely hidden in the depth of her pants pockets, let out something in between a sigh and a groan. She was pacing in front of a grand piano. The grand piano, which Maura had bought on a whim a few weeks earlier (and Jane was, by the way, doing her best to not consider the implications of the fact that her girlfriend could buy a shiny Steinway the way other people impulsively bought a new shirt) and she had since then spent every spare minute trying to convince Jane to play. She had hinted; she had turned to reverse psychology; she had used every cunning trick in the book, but apparently reached the end of her rope. By now she was begging Jane openly.
To any outside observer, however, Maura would appear anything but pleading. Rather, she seemed to provide the perfect calm to Jane's restlessness; aside from her head, which turned according to Jane's movements, she was as still as a Greek pillar.
"Of course I want you to play for me. Why else would I ask you to?"
Her voice was calm, too. Calm and completely free of any sarcasm. Although Jane was used to her girlfriend's tendency to take any question literally it caused her to momentarily freeze and send an exasperated glare in Maura's direction. It softened, however, the moment she took in her earnest expression.
Maura meant well. She might not always understand the social protocols other people took for granted; she might have a hard time figuring out when to spew out facts or share intimate details or, especially, when it was better not to talk at all. But there wasn't an evil bone in her body and consequently this recent obsession of hers, even if it annoyed the hell out of Jane, was born out of the best of intentions.
Jane even knew what they were. Or, she could guess, because unlike her scientifically challenged girlfriend she had no problem going with a gut feeling. In this case, the timing spoke volumes: The Steinway had been added to Maura's collection of furniture suspiciously shortly after Jane had mentioned that she hadn't gone near a piano since before her first near-fatal dealing with Hoyt. At the concerned look in Maura's eyes Jane had instantly regretted her slip-up, but Maura didn't directly push the issue and Jane forgot everything about it until the piano arrived.
And now here she was, wearing her socks as well as her girlfriend's undoubtedly expensive carpet thin trying to not give in to a simple musical request. Oh, Jane had objected all right; tried logical reasoning as well as downright childish whining but every attempt at resistance was futile in the face of Maura's obnoxiously calm insistence.
With a sigh Jane finally relented. "You're not going to give up, are you?"
Even though the utterance was a textbook example of a rhetorical question, Maura shook her head. Jane couldn't help but smile at that as she, too, shook her head, sending brown curls cascading everywhere.
"All right, damn it, fine. I'll play." She pointed directly at Maura, the way mothers always taught their children not to. "But just remember: You asked for this!"
Eagerly nodding, and clearly not understanding what Jane was getting at, Maura followed to stand right behind her girlfriend as she sat on and adjusted the piano bench, occasionally testing its height by lightly resting her fingertips on the keys and pressing down the pedals. When she was satisfied with the ergonomics of the set-up she wiggled her shoulders and stretched her hands, something she did everyday anyway to keep the pain and tension caused by Hoyt's mutilation of her palms at a minimum. Then she pinched the bridge of her nose, trying hard to summon inspiration.
"Do you need sheets? I believe I have a vast collection of-" Maura tried helpfully.
But Jane cut her off by lifting a hand and waving it front of where she assumed her girlfriend's face was. She didn't actually turn to look at the woman she was interrupting. "No, it's fine, Maur. Won't make any difference."
A quick intake of air indicated that Maura was about to say something more, but then she apparently changed her mind, perhaps for once realising that this was one of those occasions where an objective and detailed evaluation of the situation at hand was not called for. And possibly concluding that this was, after all, not about the pros and cons of playing buy sheet or by ear or from memory; it was about Jane being asked to do something she had avoided for years.
Indeed, Jane had her reasons. They just weren't the ones she suspected Maura suspected.
"Alright."
The moment the word left Jane's lips she felt Maura's relieved breath against her scalp. It made a few brown hairs dance and tickle against her forehead, but Jane ignored them as she properly positioned herself. Back straight, head held high instead of bent over keyboards as her long fingers felt their way, waiting for some instinct to kick in… And then finally, finally Jane struck the first notes.
She was instantly rewarded with an incredibly crisp and rich sound verberating nicely in the large living room. Maura was probably mentally applauding herself for having chosen such a fine instrument, Jane thought. In any case, her girlfriend's appreciative hum was unmistakeable, and Jane squeezed her eyes shut, hoping her internal wince could be mistaken for deep concentration as she pictured the delighted expression Maura was undoubtedly wearing.
"It's Gounod's 'Ave Maria'! It's wonderful!"
Maura was clearly trying for a respectful whisper, but her trademark enthusiasm could never be contained, and Jane almost snorted in spite of herself and her awareness of the fact that this perfect moment would soon be over. But for now her fingers stretched and satisfactorily played out the first introductory bars of the classical piece.
"It was published in 1853 as 'Méditation sur le Premier Prélude de Piano de S. Bach'," Maura added in her not-so-subdued whisper, but a hint of hesitation indicated she was somewhat torn between sharing her knowledge and letting herself be absorbed by the performance. "The original piece by Bach was written some 137 years earlier, but only rose to fame when-"
Maura's lecture drew to a sudden halt as Jane's ring finger slipped and hit a G instead of an A. The internal wince immediately returned but this time Jane suspected it was more readily apparent. Jane tried again and this time managed to get the chord right and move on past the critical point. She got the melody back on track, and behind her Maura was breathing again.
But just as Jane had properly picked up the pace another unbidden tone snuck its way into the famous composition. And another. And yet another.
This time Jane didn't pause or retrace her steps. She played on defiantly as the harmonic classic turned into music rubbles between her hands. Majors turned into minors that turned into chords without a name, and the rhythm went from slightly off to downright random as her fingers moved with the grace and precision of a drunken sailor.
Behind her, Maura was shifting. Layers of cloth were rustling, lips being wet, feet sliding over carpet. The ever collected and sensible Dr. Maura Isles was clearly out of it. Her irritating calm had vaporised, and Jane couldn't help but smile. But the smile quickly faded, and after a few more lines Jane couldn't bear listening to her awful rendition of the classic any longer. She let her hands abruptly and inelegantly drop into her lap.
The sudden silence felt louder than any of the unintended dissonant chords had.
"Told you I can't play," Jane finally said, just to say something.
"Is it…" A small hand had found Jane's shoulder before Maura dared to finish her question. "Is it because of what Hoyt did?"
Jane accepted the hand, covering it with her own. She had been prepared for the question. Had known this was coming, but it didn't make it any better. Or any less ridiculous.
"Nope," she finally admitted. "I'm just plain no good. I sucked before Hoyt, I suck now."
"But you took piano lessons," Maura's voice stated from behind. Of course she would try to piece her factual knowledge and the reality at hand neatly together.
"Because Ma forced me to," Jane clarified. "Just like she forced me to take ballet lessons."
The hand on Jane's shoulder disappeared, and Jane felt an irrational chill from its absence.
"You didn't want to play?" Maura's voice bore a hint of confusion.
Jane chuckled. "I wanted to play baseball, Maur. And softball. And hockey." There was no response from Maura; the chuckle did not rub off on her and eventually died in the back of Jane's throat.
"But I thought…" Maura began, but couldn't finish her sentence.
Jane, still not turning to meet her girlfriend's gaze, finished it for her.
"You thought I was some piano prodigy, but had been traumatized by Hoyt and just needed a bit of encouragement." Jane laughed, even though she wasn't really amused. She felt awkward. As if she had been given a test and failed it right in front of the person whose opinion mattered more than anyone's. And in way, she had.
Not just that; she had lied. Or maybe not downright lied; but she had consciously mislead Maura. Sweet, well-meaning Maura who deserved so much better. That was, in fact, the heart of the problem.
"I know I should have said something sooner. I guess I just liked the idea of you thinking I was good at something-" She wet her lips, searching for the right word and finally decided on one: "something classy, you know?" Jane rubbed at her face with her useless hands. She was feeling downright pathetic by now and it made her voice sound small and pathetic, too, as she completed her confession, punctuating it with a sigh: "I'm sorry I've disappointed you."
This seemed to snap Maura out of whatever haze she had temporarily been in. Jane heard her huff before repeating: "Disappointed?", her voice back to its ordinary volume and pitch.
The sound of skirt and shirt shifting, of soft soles treading, of hair and earrings being shook as Maura stepped back just to reappear and take a seat right next to Jane on the piano bench. Jane didn't speak, hardly breathed and certainly didn't meet the eyes she felt resting on her, afraid to learn what they held.
This time, Maura broke the silence.
"Play it again," she said simply.
"What?" Jane was so taken aback by the request that she momentarily forgot all apprehension. Her head and eyes whipped towards Maura and she stared at her, mouth agape, in utter disbelief.
"You heard me," Maura said with the characteristic air of calm only her self-control could muster. "Play it again."
Her eyes were kind, but unrelenting, and Jane felt dismantled before them. This really wasn't a request; it was a command. And Jane knew she was up against an unbendable will.
"I feel like Ingrid Bergman could walk in any moment," she said with a headshake, but her attempt at humour did nothing to ease her nerves as she once again positioned herself, unsure of exactly what kind of test she was being but to, but pretty darn sure she would fail it.
For the second time within a few minutes – and the second time within half a decade – Jane placed her hand on the keys, stretched her fingers, counted the beat internally and struck the first chords.
Just like before, crisp tones poured out of the instrument; Jane's hands drew them out with something resembling ease. But the first few bars were easy. Troubles were only a line or two ahead. And sure enough, Jane soon found herself – also for the second time – accidentally turning a G into an A.
However, this time her slip-up was partially covered up, as Maura's voice joined in at that very moment.
"Ave Maria…"
Her soprano voice was strong and clearly trained in all the classical singing techniques, from exact pronunciation to proper use of stomach musculature.
It was also impressively out of tune.
"…Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructos ventri tui jesus…"
Jane had to hold back a snort; of course her girlfriend would know the Latin lyrics. She presented them with what seemed like heartfelt earnestness, but the tones only vaguely resembled the original theme. It was more like a firing at random than an actual melody. In fact Jane was pretty sure there were tones in there that had never been sung by anyone before.
Maura, however, sang on regardless, and Jane's hands stumbled along as best they could.
"…Ora pro nobis. Nobis pecatoribus, nunc et in ora, in ora mortis nostrae…"
The duet was quickly turning into the most modern atonal composition. The inappropriate contrast between the classic masterpiece, the classy instrument, the possibly classier singer and the utter horror of the actual output was grotesque.
No actually, it was hilarious. The moment Jane acknowledged this she could no longer hold her giggles back, and they quickly turned into an all out roaring laughter. But her hands stumbled on, and Maura stubbornly continued singing, even as the odd snort snuck into her sentences.
"…Maria. Ora pro nobis, nobis pecatoribus…"
By the end of the song the tones from the piano barely held together. Maura had to hiccup the final 'amen', andthe second rendition of Ave Maria ended as abruptly as the first. This time, however, Jane's hands fell into Maura's lap rather than her own as she more or less collapsed into her girlfriend's arms, and their laughter lingered for a few more bars.
Eventually Jane sat back up. Not enough to completely break the contact with Maura – her left hand was still on Maura's knee – but enough to quickly wipe a stray tear from the corner of her eye before it could be mistaken for actual crying. "But didn't you train with some hotshot opera singer?" she asked as soon as she had restored her breath.
"Oh yes, for five years." Maura smiled lightly, but bit her lip at the same time. "My parents had to offer him a generous bribe…"
Jane raised her brow at that, but managed to hold back the sarcastic comment that was forcing its way up her throat, instead choosing to give Maura's knee an affectionate squeeze. Even if this new information was hysterical, Maura was in fact exposing herself in order to make Jane feel more comfortable.
Shrugging, Maura drove her point home: "Even the maestro couldn't cure my tone deafness."
Jane continued to caress Maura's knee as she watched a combination of amusement, embarrassment and insecurity invade her girlfriend's features. Her ridiculously complex and ridiculously beautiful girlfriend who had once again managed to completely surprise Jane, detective badge or not. It was something very few people managed to do and frankly, it took Jane's breath away.
"So basically…" Jane began, getting up and shifting so she straddled the piano bench, knees apart. "Basically both of our families made incredibly unwise investments."
"I at least was a hopeless case!" Maura's voice rose about an octave at the end of the sentence as Jane without warning pulled her towards her.
"Oh, I don't know about that," Jane smirked. Her right hand found the knee that was still warm from her previous ministrations, while she buried her other in the soft hair at the base of Maura's neck. Maura was still using the bench in the traditional way and so had her profile turned to her. Jane leaned in to place a lingering kiss at the corner of slightly parted lips. "I happen to be a very big fan of your impressive vocal range," she whispered against Maura's cheek and instantly felt tiny neck hairs rise against her hand.
"Glad to hear it." Maura, whose voice had dropped from soprano to alto, leaned into it. Her skin was as soft as the hair and rapidly warming to Jane's touch. "I myself am most fond of your manual technique."
"Yeah?" As she spoke, Jane's mouth ghosted along Maura's jaw line, then her neck and collarbone. She needed more of that glorious skin, and Maura's head fell back almost automatically, granting her better access. "Guess the music tuition wasn't wasted after all."
"Mm-hmm," Maura agreed, then gasped as Jane, unable and unwilling to hold back, bit down on her pulse point. "Our talents- our talents are merely best suited for private performances," she managed to stutter.
It was the last coherent sentence she would be uttering for a while. For in that moment a diligent piano hand disappeared under Maura's skirt and elicited a perfectly out of pitch 'oh'.
THE END
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Note: This is the song I imagine them performing: www DOT youtube DOT com SLASH watch?v=Qb5V62B6Jpc