Nocturne In C# Minor 1

Nocturne In C# Minor

by Minou Janvier

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/asm/mjanvier/cminor01.php
Summary: Not supplied

They didn't bring a piano with them. Not a real high priority. He'd thought about his electic keyboard, but knew, honestly, that it wouldn't fit. There were other things of greater importance.

But apparently the Ancients had invented something not unlike a piano long ago. And when John discovered it sitting forlornly in one of the new spaces they were exploring, he knew it would have to come with him back to his own quarters. Not that he had any real personal space of any size, but the instrument wouldn't take up all that much room, and it would provide company on those nights when he couldn't sleep.

It had 94 keys, more than any piano he'd ever played. It was made out of the wood that grew on the continent, a deep black-red sort of wood that polished up quite beautifully. The strings were broken, a tangled mess. But he was able to repair them, and hone them back to the exquisite mass of liquid silver they were intended to be. It was a work of art, something that somebody had loved before ascension, and probably still missed.

It was also completely out of tune, and John spent a good many evenings inbetween things trying to figure out how to tune it. Eventually, much to his embarassment, he discovered that it was self- tuning and all he had to do was hear the right pitch in his head. He was particularly glad that he was alone right then.

When he got it in working order, and figured out how one pressed the right combination of keys to provide the notes he wanted, he began to painstakingly work out the music of his soul. It took a while, and it wasn't always a lovely thing to hear, but eventually, he got something going, and decided to share it with the one person he cared to share these things with.

He got Ford to help him move the instrument out onto the balcony of his quarters, then paid him with a quick and dirty version of "Louie, Louie", which left the young man grinning and with a bounce that had begun to fade from his step. John was glad. But he ached for something more, and when his beloved showed up, eating as usual, he felt something slip into place that had been missing for a few hours.

"Eating, again?" He couldn't resist.

"Hypoglycemic. Duh." Rodney grinned and sidled closer for a kiss. "So, finally going to let me hear this thing, eh?"

"Maybe. Have you been a good boy today?"

Snort. "Hardly. Nothing worked today. And where were you during the meeting with Elizabeth where she reamed my ass for not producing an instant answer regarding upgrading the power? And how come I haven't figured out the zpms yet? Could have used you."

"Busy." But he reached a hand out and caressed Rodney's face just the same. A silent apology, even though it wasn't really necessary. Rodney just liked to bitch. It was a hobby.

"So..."

John smiled, kissed him again, and led him to the chair he'd carefully positioned on the balcony, just far enough away to really get the sound of the music.

"A concert, for one, m'sieu."

"Don't even try to attempt french, John. You'll hurt yourself." Rodney smiled, and sat, carefully balancing his plate and looking at John like he was contemplating eating him next. John laughed, and felt something ease in him that had tightened during the day. He needed this man, was grateful to have him.

John sat at the keyboard, closed his eyes, and drew in the salt air. He couldn't leave the instrument out here, though he'd have liked to. But for this, the balcony was the only place there was.

He touched the keys, and began. The sound was exquisite, far better than even the Bosendorfer he'd lusted over. The Ancients knew something about making each note clear and aching. Something about taking the unheard sounds of the soul and reproducing them for all to hear. As he played, he felt the groundswell of peace that only this could provide. He closed his eyes, and became the song.

So he never noticed the tears streaming down his lover's face. Or that a level below, people were streaming out into the night to hear. Or that the instrument heard the music in his mind and shared it with evberyone.

He only knew, only heard, only felt, the rising tide of Chopin, drifting like a benediction into the Atlantean night.

Next: The Goldberg Variations