A/N - As you can see, I've kind of left "Intentions of a Hard Boiled Egg" lying somewhere in the sands of time. I'm like that sometimes. Sorry for those of you who actually liked where that was going. I've hit a sort of wall in my life where my only Richard Gere is a long string of oneshots and drabbles, so this is my first hand over hand.

I'm going to start writing now. Don't know what's going to come of it. See you at the end.

Keys of Discipline

She sat down on the worn wooden bench. It was less comfortable than she remembered, but still as comforting as it had been all those years ago. Resting her hands gently on the ivory in front of her, she inhaled deeply, as if she were trying to drug herself with the fruit of what was to come.

One finger, then the next, over and over again until the sounds they caused grew more confident. These keys were familiar haunts to her memory, and their notes were like old friends whose faces Time had somehow left unchanged. Sweet simplicity muttered its way through her consciousness as the rhythms came to life again.

Her mother use to hum while she cooked, cleaned, healed, and played. Thus, the memory was born.

But it grew over time as the instrument to bring it back came into the possession of its bearer. Years of unsung music danced through the girl's young fingers as the struggled to tame the writhing tones within her own mind. Soon the whispered memoirs of her past became resoundingly vivid pictures as the tones cultivated their own brilliance and memory.

Now the child was a woman, and though the roughened muscles sometimes strayed from their intended path, the simple melody and its graceful harmonies sang through the hall again.

"It's sadder now." There was a man in the room. "Emptier."

"What is?" She asked without looking up. My mother's music?

"This room," he said. Eyeing the arched ceiling, he added, "This ugly room."

The girl sighed, spinning the final chords in the air around her. "I know."

"Do you want to take that with you?" he asked her. "I can call them back in if you want it."

She looked at the piano, letting her fingers slide along its smooth and darkened surface. "No. I don't need it."

Suddenly the man was sitting next to her. "I know you don't," he said, putting his hand on hers. She looked into his topaz eyes and saw her own reflected back. "That's why I asked you if you wanted it." He smiled. "There's a difference you know."

Water welled up behind her eyelashes. "I…I just…"

The man pulled her into an embrace. "I know."

She sobbed lightly into his shoulder. "They're gone. They're gone."

He held her tightly for a second, then brought her face to where his was visible. "Not really." She sat up and wiped her eyes. He pointed to the keys laid out in front of them. "Look at this piano, Kana. Can't you see your mother's face in the music it plays?"

She gazed wistfully at the ruminations before her. He was right. She was there, laughing, smiling, crying, dancing... She was there. But where was he? She turned to the man before her. "Ursan…" His face, though clean of pain, and devoid of betrayal was as strong and quiet as her father's had been.

He kissed her forehead. "You truly are our mother's daughter."

Enjoyable? Understandable…? However, the Author's note had a few references of which I'm kind of proud. Can you spot all three?

Tell me what you think, because I think it was pretty confusing, what with the way I kind of skirted around antecedents.