Title: The Melody of Life

Author: Eeevee

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Baccano! All characters are property of their respective creators.

Author's note: Dedicated to my sister who said Keith needed some love  Based off the novel "Drugs and Dominos" and not the anime series. Spoilers if you have not read the novel, but nothing drastic or plot-destroying. And I've seen her name translated at "Kate" and as "Katie"; I like Katie better. Some other liberties were taken to fill in gaps that the novel didn't cover.

It was hard to feel one pair of eyes in a thousand. And I had many adoring fans. The stage was my life and my family; a family of staff and adoring fans.

After it was over, I realized that I would have to make a new life. I've always been very frank and pragmatic. It is what it is and I was out of a career. The talkies had taken away my livelihood, but not my love of music. I never gave up my comfortable shroud of music.

And I think that he played a major part in that.

Of course, I didn't notice him at first. It wasn't that he was ugly or brutish; I simply wasn't interested in having a man in my life. When I was fired and replaced there was suddenly this new awareness that seized me. I started paying attention to my tiny audiences in those little bars and cafes where I earned my living.

His sharp features stuck in my mind that first night I noticed him. No matter how you looked at him, he didn't appear to be the wholesome man fresh out of law school. He was way off in the corner playing a game of cards with an intense look. Except the look wasn't directed at the cards, it was directed at me.

And instead of being afraid, I was curious.

Mother always said that I had more curiosity than a cat and half the sense of one. She couldn't understand how I could be so good about some dangerous things and a total idiot about others. And no amount of reassuring that it was instinct and I would be fine ever soothed her ruffled feathers after one of my bouts.

Well, she was dead and gone now. The only relative I had left was a younger sister who lived in Boston. She had married well and had a household full of maids to boss around. She always told me that I should find a good man to take care of me. I found the idea perfectly revolting when I could support myself with my talent.

After the first few dismissals, I'd always find another place to go. And he'd always find me. Somehow he always knew when I was playing and he could be counted on to be in the audience.

At first I was unsure why he wanted to listen to me. After all, I was a nothing at this point. Anything I had been was replaced with technology. Then it occurred to me: he was shy.

And that was funny to me. I certainly wasn't impressive or imposing. My tall, long frame lent me height but I am as big around as a toothpick. My honey colored hair was certainly pretty enough, but it was my hands I was most proud of. I had long everything from my face to my toes, including beautiful, delicate fingers and manicured nails. I am quite vain about my hands because I wanted everything about how I played to be beautiful and flawless as the ivory and ebony keys my fingers dance across.

One night I decided this could go on forever: him watching and listening and me playing.

I approached him quietly and stood in front of him expectantly. If he was surprised by my actions he didn't show it. Instead he gave a slight incline of his head towards the seat next to him. I gathered my skirts and sat down waiting for any explanation.

He stared at my hands for quite awhile, enough to make me fidget, before looking into my eyes. I stared back realize that he wasn't shy at all; he was beyond patient. There were statements in those eyes that said things I wasn't sure I was ready to accept.

"It has been difficult to listen to you play since the theater has employed talkies. You cannot tell who is who when you listen."

And then I realized I had seen him before. Although the mind was a tricky thing that needed a reason to remember.

"My name is Katie Weaver." I offered suddenly. I put a hand over my mouth for being so forward.

"Keith Gandor," his voice was deep and measured but I had to lean in to hear it because he was so quiet. I got the distinct feeling that not many people got to hear him speak and I was honored by the words he gave me.

It was an interesting night. He didn't seem inclined to chat me up with tales of his valor and bravo as my previous dates had done. Instead he listened to me tell him of my childhood and my family and the death of my career. I must have gone through several topics before my voice started to give and I realized I had blurted out my life's story to a complete stranger.

Mortified, I bolted up. He quietly got to his feet and gracefully put on his jacket which hung over the back of his chair. He offered an arm and I looked at him uncertainly. Then that affliction of curiosity struck again.

If he knew when and where I worked, I really shouldn't have been surprised he also knew where I lived. He was a perfect gentleman walking me to my door and not expecting more.

I didn't realize it but my courting had begun. Nor did he realize it but I had found a new reason to play.

The next day a bouquet of flowers arrived. It was followed by sweets and jars of honey and jam. Stuffed animals and jewelry and scores of music filled my doorstep. There was never a name or a return address because there never needed to be.

He continued to come to my performances without fail. Afterwards I would usually come sit by him, first with my hand over his knee then later with my longer fingers twined in his thicker ones. Sometimes I'd talk about my day and other times I'd simply watch him as he had watched me.

There was a sternness to him that manifested physically on his brows and a seriousness that showed his deliberate, methodical nature. He had a very precise idea of his life and he followed his convictions without hesitation.

This I could see although he rarely spoke more than a sentence or two an evening. If I was lucky I could get him to answer a string of questions. I loved guessing games and he seemed to enjoy humoring my endless curiosity.

I learned all sorts of things about him. He had three brothers whom he appeared to love dearly although he didn't speak their names often. His father had left him a business that he ran with the same stern dedication he gave the rest of his life. He admitted through omission that it was not the sort of job he would have chosen for himself, but it was his and his brothers' legacy now. It probably wasn't the sort of business I should inquire about, so I didn't.

I also learned he was quite the shark at cards. And amazingly enough, quite the cheater too. It was an endearing quirk in his straight-arrow behavior.

The more I learned about him the more I wanted to learn. He was as intriguing to me as the silent movies I had accompanied, and I wanted to play for him and narrate what he couldn't seem to express himself.

He brought his brothers to a late night performance one night. I was surprised and delighted. The family resemblance was strong in looks, but I found out very quickly that the brothers were only alike in looks; their personalities were quite different.

Berga was a big, overpowering man who eyed me with interest. When introduced he held out a massive fist and gently shook my hand, which was a major contrast to the man's face he just punched in at the card table. He, of course, did wipe off his knuckles before making my acquaintance.

Luck was slight compared to his tall, lean older brother and his broad, strong brother. He seemed to wear a perpetual smile of amusement. I wondered what made such a young man so cynical but found him charming enough. Somehow I wasn't surprised he was a fan of poetry, especially Poe.

At times the three made a strange contrast, but to be honest, I was jealous. They were much tighter than my sister and I could ever have been and there was an open honesty in their interaction that was rare these days. You could tell the younger two looked to Keith as a moral pillar, and they trusted and loved him beyond doubt.

And those feelings seemed to extend to me, which was embarrassing until I got used to it.

I became a regular visitor at the jazz bar the brothers owned. Keith insisted that I only visit during the day and it was a request that I followed faithfully. It was partly out of respect for his privacy and partly because I didn't feel comfortable if one of the brothers weren't there. I didn't much care to be involved in whatever business lurked under the façade of legitimacy. And Keith didn't seem inclined to share that part of the business with me.

My favorite part of the bar was the beautiful, sleek piano that sat in the corner of the low stage. It wasn't anything like the grandness of the organs I was used to playing and it was a trick to learn some of the more complex finger work required of the smaller instrument, but I adored it.

I adored it because it symbolized the change in my life. No longer could I infinitely hold one note without effort, breathy and powerful. Now I had to learn the subtleties and patterns of another kind and the notes I played resonated before fading to a humming nothingness.

It was an interesting time and looking back I wonder if it would have ever gone any further under normal circumstances. Normal circumstances were not well acquainted with the Gandors I'm afraid.

'Ah, Miss Katie, let me escort you home.' Luck said rising from his chair.

It was about four in the afternoon. Keith was out on business, but I had decided to stay for a few hours in hopes of running into him, enjoying a debate with Luck about some reading. I was startled to see how long our debate had lasted and realized I was going to be late for work.

'Don't you have to get the bar ready for the evening?' I queried gathering up my coat and gloves. It was getting chilly with fall and even though I didn't have far to go, I'd rather not have to warm up again.

He paused, clearly torn between his duties.

'I'll be fine. It's just a few blocks down. I've walked it a million times.'

He didn't look reassured.

'Who would dare to bother me in your territory?'

He still didn't look convinced and beckoned an employee over. They had a quiet conversation.

'Bill will accompany you home, Miss Katie. I'm truly sorry I can't go myself.'

It's silly to think that just because you've done it a million times that you are safe.

The men come upon us so quickly that Bill had time to draw but not aim or fire. The assailants worked quietly and efficiently to bind him. With one terrible slash his throat was cut. His body crumpled to the ground looking like a pile of dirty, discarded laundry.

Rough hands clutched my wrists and pawed at me. A large, grimy hand clamped over my mouth muffling my scream.

'Behave you,' the voice grated in my ear. 'And mebbe you'll keep those pretty little fingers.'

I instantly stilled. He could not have come up with a more dire threat for me if he had threatened to rape me against the cold, brick wall.

I was hustled off, confused and frightened, to a dark room. When the man tried to bind my wrists I asked him to tie my arms to my sides instead. I was proud that my voice only shook a little. I could not allow them to damage my wrists lest I lose any flexibility. He laughed before stuffing a dirty rag in my mouth to gag me but did as I asked.

Left in the dark, I dozed and considered the predicament I was in. This was obviously the result of Keith's secret business. Being held hostage is a terrible thing to bear. I hardly minded the ropes or the dark, but the thought of being used against those I loved was horrifying. Even though I knew it was silly to think so, I felt if one of them were hurt that it would be all my fault.

A few times I tried to squirm around, to see if I could loosen the bindings, but the ropes stayed fast.

Eventually I did doze despite the cold and discomfort.

The next time the door opened a dull glow of light seeped in and I blinked groggily before jerking up.

'Shhh, it's okay.'

I relaxed.

'Bill's dead.'

'We know. They'll pay, don't worry.'

I actually was worried. For my kidnappers.

'Keith?'

'Big brother's taking care of it.'

There was no doubt in my mind what that meant. I am not a squeamish person but I was glad that Luck was sent to retrieve me. There was no doubt in my mind that he would take me around the wrathful carnage. Most likely it was not a sight for a lady and probably not most of the rest of the population of New York either.

Back at the night club I was sipping hot chocolate, which probably had a bit of spirits in it despite the laws, and plinking keys on the piano. Luck was pacing and frowning behind me, clearly wishing he hadn't been honored with the noble duty of rescuing me.

We both jumped when Berga came crashing in. He was war-whooping and smashing his fists together. I gathered from that they had been successful. I looked past him to Keith who was silently following his brother. Our eyes met across the room and held.

There was so much he was trying to tell me that the messages were clamoring over one another. And I, who hadn't cried the entire time, felt tears running down my cheeks. Swiftly, I turned around and placed my hands on the keys.

I wish that what I had played had been recorded. I've tried to duplicate it many times since then without any success. I would say it was the best performance of my life without a blush and I think Keith felt that way too.

He waited for me to finish before coming to my side. He leaned down to whisper in my ear and I put a finger up to his lips.

"Yes." I answered as he slipped the ring on my finger.