Title: That Damn Piano
Author: Cait
Email: charityhaze@aol.com
Rating: PG-13, for language and "tingly"
Content Warnings: Angst... ooooh, angst. Then... *fluff!*
Archive: SJD yes, any more, I'll do such a happy dance if you ask :)
Summary: That damn piano...
Sequel: Can stand alone, but it's a sequel to "Virtuoso," which can be found at Heliopolis, and both are based on the idea that Jack has a secret musical talent...
Disclaimer: Nothing's mine, except the piano.
Spoilers: As long as you know Charlie's dead and Jack and Sara are divorced, there's nothing to ruin it for you.
Status: Complete
A/N: Thanks a million to Mike, not only for the insta-beta but for begging me, no, encouraging me, no, *forcing* me to write more fic, and for buying me S3 on DVD when I couldn't afford cable or internet (no Stargate! No fanfic! NOOO!). Thanks to Carrie, from whom I shamelessly ripped off the "Ice Cream Truck Song" idea... the girl won't let me pass a piano without playing it for her (this is a full-grown woman, not a little girl. Sheesh.) Warning: I'm a former music major. Cross a SG fanatic with a musician, and most likely you'll get a series. Send feedback to either support this idea, or to shut me up once and for all...
That damn piano.
He should have gotten rid of it. He should have given it to Sara.
The divorce had been rather unspectacular-no big fights over the house or car or money. He'd pretty much let her keep everything; felt he owed it to her to let her have it all. And he didn't want a reminder of the pain of losing her, of losing their son.
But that damn piano.
One night after too many beers, he'd called her. Demanding the piano. He wanted that piano. It was *his* piano, goddamn it, and she didn't know how to play, so he was taking the piano. End of discussion.
She hadn't really fought with him about it. He distinctly remembered the frustration-he'd called looking for a fight. He needed a fight. He'd gone numb and wanted to feel again, and the feeling he opted for was anger. He'd thought it all out. He'd ask her for the piano, she'd say no. He'd tell her he was taking the piano and she'd say she was keeping it. He'd say some mean hurtful things, she'd yell at him, and the next day he would go in, get the piano, and get out without a word. And he'd feel more human for having felt something.
So, having a plan, he'd picked up the phone.
"Hello?" She'd sounded sleepy when she answered after three and a half rings.
"Can I have the piano?"
"Jack, it's three in the morning."
"I want the piano."
"Okay… now?"
"You can't have it. It's mine."
"Alright…"
"I'm not giving it up. I know how to play it and you don't."
"Jack, are you drunk?"
"That's beside the point."
"Jack, I'll call you in the morning."
"Don't change the subject… I want the piano."
"Ok, fine. Dad'll be here tomorrow and he can help you move it."
"Don't think you can use that reverse psychological… stuff…"
"Goodnight, Jack."
Somehow his victory hadn't seemed very… victorious.
Well, that had been years ago. Within three days the piano had been converted into a table of sorts where he'd set things and never move them. He remembered sitting at it once, right after he'd moved it in, and playing "The Entertainer." Charlie had always called it the "Ice Cream Truck Song." He didn't play anything after that.
Not until Carter reminded him it was there. After years of ignoring the big hunk of wood in the corner, he was forced to acknowledge that damn piano once again.
It was nothing like seeing Charlie's bike, nothing like sitting in Charlie's room, basking in the essence of his kid. It was more of an abstract reminder.
Sure, there was the "Ice Cream Truck Song," but other than that, Charlie had never gone near that piano, never really listened when Jack would play. Charlie was an athlete, but Jack had hoped that someday, when he was a little older, his boy would take an interest in music, would let his dad teach him how to play the "Ice Cream Truck Song." Or maybe he could have taken guitar lessons, or played the trumpet.
That damn piano reminded him of the things Charlie would never do.
So now again, after too many beers, Jack was picking up the phone. Carter had reminded him of his pain. She'd stayed that night. In the morning, she'd left and after that there'd been an unspoken understanding that they would forget what had happened. A few days later he'd sat down and played "Moonlight Sonata" again, remembered the high he felt that night, and remembered the loss he felt with their mutual agreement to let it go. Then he was numb again. He wanted to feel. He was going to give Carter a piece of his mind for unburying the memories of that damn piano.
"Hello?" She sounded sleepy when she answered after three and a half rings.
Whoa, déjà vu.
"Can I have the piano?"
"What?"
Right, he thought. This is a different blue-eyed blonde that I love.
*Like,* dammit! *Like*! In a very innocent, professional way…
Right.
"Colonel?"
"Carter?"
"Did you want something?"
"I… think so."
"You think so."
"Come over."
"Sir, are you drunk?"
"That's beside the point."
*****
Ok, he called her, looking to feel something. Once again, he didn't get the fight he was looking for, but he'd felt something. Something giddy, something a little… tingly? Something. Something is good.
She must have felt something too, because she'd agreed to come to his house at midnight while he was drunk. Maybe she felt tingly too. Maybe she was bored with her technical doohickeys.
She never got bored with her technical doohickeys.
She felt tingly.
*Grin*.
He felt like he should do something, anything, to exert an air of nonchalance for her. He could watch TV. There were a few dishes to wash. Anything to make it look like he wasn't just sitting there, waiting for her. Waiting for her to come over. To his house.
She felt tingly.
*Grin*.
His train of thought was apparently on a circular track that night, as everything he thought of somehow got back to "tingly" and "*grin*." Listen to music. Beethoven. Sam likes Beethoven. She feels tingly.
*Grin*.
After half an hour his doorbell rang, much to his relief as his face was starting to hurt from its little grinning workout. He opened the door to see Carter, wearing jeans, a gray sweater, and a leather jacket. She'd been intently studying the ground, but as the door opened her big blue eyes shot up to look at him and she smiled shyly.
Oh yeah, she felt tingly.
"Carter," he greeted, "welcome to your first lesson."
"My lesson, Sir?" She stepped inside, a hesitant look on her face as she shrugged out of her jacket.
"Yes, tonight you are going to learn how to play the piano."
"I am," she replied skeptically.
She is? He had no idea when he'd thought that up, but he was grateful for something other than "I want you in so many ways; prepare to be seduced."
"Yes, now if you'll please follow me." He took her coat and hung it over the back of his couch as he led her to the piano and pulled back the bench for her.
"Sir, did I say I wanted to learn the piano?"
"No, but you need a hobby."
She shrugged and sat down on the bench. "Honestly, Sir, music isn't my thing."
"Carter."
"Sir."
"Call me…" Call me Jack. I want to hear you call me Jack. "Call me Maestro."
She rolled her eyes. "Ok, Maestro, what do I do first?"
He was drawing a blank. He'd taught lessons before… in high school. "Um… let's start with a C scale. It's easy; no black keys. Just…" He leaned over her, resting his left hand on her shoulder, amused when she tensed up, and playing the scale with his right. "Just start on Middle C, and play all the white keys until you get to the next C."
Her muscles relaxed as she scrunched up her face in concentration, playing each key in the scale with her index finger.
"Alright, Carter, your thumb is 'one.' Index finger is 'two,' and so on. Start with one," he played the C with his thumb. "It goes one, two, three; cross one underneath, then two, three, four, five."
She tried to repeat what he'd played but kept messing up when it came to crossing her thumb underneath. One, two, three, four… No, One, two, cross… No.
He demonstrated again a few times, but five minutes later she was still having a hard time. After a while he'd quit showing her and found his eyes stuck firmly to her face. *So* cute when she didn't know what she was doing.
Before he realized what he was doing, his hand covered hers, stopping her struggling fingers from tripping up the scale.
"Sir?" Her eyes darted up to meet his, and she blinked a few times, bewildered as he laced their fingers together.
"I told you, don't call me that. Call me-"
"Maestro."
"Jack."
"Jack," she breathed as their faces moved closer together into a kiss that neither had expected, yet both had initiated. A kiss that made him feel. Really feel.
That damn piano.
*Grin*.