Post by do on May 13, 2011 23:04:02 GMT -5
NEW EARTH COLONY
GAIA
22nd JUNE 2171
Skye hadn't really had a chance to wonder if Stark would call in the morning as arranged or not. Because, the night before, not only had she had that cold shower after one drink, she'd gone back downstairs for more afterwards. So when the good doctor had called her in the cold light of day, she'd been asleep... asleep and nursing a hangover.
Now, hours later, she was trying not to fret about anything as she made her way to Earth Quarter, following Stark's instructions on how to find the house bequeathed to Stark by his friend and mentor Hans. She tried not to wonder or analyse or expect.
Stark had made a point to keep the invite to his place as neutral and devoid of subtext so all Skye should really expect (here's that word again) was dinner. Oh, and the man playing piano for her. That made her unconsciously press the old folder she carried to her chest, hoping the music sheets it contained would please him as much as he had claimed it would back at the concert.
A bottle of local wine in one hand and his present in the other, she eventually paused in front of the address he'd given her. It wasn't a big affair, but then not many were along this stretch of road - or even overall in the colony. Unless you were the Governor or had children and were planning on a big family, you made do with a smaller abode.
The house was one of the first built in the colony that wasn't slapped together with whatever happened to be about at the time, as so many of the early homes in Gaia were constructed. Back then, building materials were scarce and most homes were built with the plasteel, the stuff they used to make emergency shelters and what was left from the convoy of ships that came to Gaia. Most of these vessels had been hastily outfitted for warp to escape the Xindi advance and had reached their limits by the time the journey to Gaia was done. No longer space worthy, the ships were scrapped to provide building materials for the fledgling colony.
The home that Hans Mueller lived in for the last years of his life was not one of these. By the time he and his young charge had returned from Vulcan, supply lines had been established and building materials brought in. The house was little more than three rooms and a space for the facilities. It was building plasteel and duracrete and the design was a mixture of Spanish American and Vulcan efficiency.
Hans had attempted to grow roses in memory of his wife but never had the green thumb that she did, so the front yard was a square of green grass cut in half by a walkway leading to the front steps. The door was wood and medieval style , curving on both sides to meet in an arch above. The window was French, allowing a view of the interior living room for both occupant and visitor.
Stark was busy in the kitchen, attempting to make chicken provençale, the only dish he knew without completely screwing it up because he was nervous. He had never invited a woman to his home, ever. The girls he and Maxy slept with usually were happy with a room at the Outpost. This place, this was his sanctuary and inviting Skye here, was a big step for him even if she didn't know it.
When the door knocked, he quickly stirred the pot he was standing over once more and made his way out of the kitchen, his eyes brushing the elongated box that was gaily wrapped up on the dining table and went to open it.
"Hey." Skye smiled, managing to not show the trepidation she felt as she stood there. She had left the fancy dress of the night before and opted for a casual blouse and slacks. The smell of food wafted to her and she raised a brow, impressed. "Smells nice. So you do cook," she teased.
"Hi." He smiled at her presence, once again awed by how she could make the simple things looks so elegant. He'd spent most of the night thinking about her and was glad that the way he'd ended their evening the night before hadn't put her off. "Do is a relative term, attempt is more accurate."
"Well, I'll soon find out but it smells promising." Noting that he hadn't invited her in yet, Skye looked at him, amused, his appraising look making her want to move them both forward before his attention made her blush. "Here. Nothing fancy. It's local but quite decent," she said, offering him the bottle.
"Come on in," he said, stepping aside and bidding her to enter, somewhat embarrassed that he'd forgotten to do it while he'd been gawking at her like a teenager. "Thanks," he said, admiring the bottle she handed him. "I could say the same about the cooking."
"I guess there's something to be said for sticking close to home," she said, thinking of Bajor, her tone a little wistful despite her attempt at making it not so. Coming in, she took in the room, the decor somewhat for an older man but not so much that Stark hadn't put in his own touches. In the corner of the lounge, she spotted the piano and couldn't help herself walking to it, her fingers running along the finish. "Trill?" She turned back to Stark, a little surprised by that. She supposed you got your hands on what you could.
"Yeah." He nodded, looking at the instrument proudly. "I had to send the makers a couple of musical pieces so they'd program it just right for me." Program, Stark thought wincing inwardly, such a profane word when speaking about a musical instrument. "Took a year before either of us were happy with it and it got transported over," he explained.
"And it sounds close enough to the real thing?" Skye had heard the Trill instrument play Trill music and, while it may looked close the piano of home, it wasn't quite the same thing. And its sound wasn't meant to be the exact same thing as a piano in any case.
"That's what took a year," he replied, remembering the subspace communications being traded back, the frustrating face to face calls and other curse words traded. He now knew what the Trill word for 'asshole' was without the need for the universal translator. "I sent them a couple of pieces from Beethoven and they were able to get it pretty close to what I call a piano." His gaze shifted to the box on the table and he broke into a little smile. "Since you're braving dinner with me, I thought I'd get you something. Here." He handed her the package.
A whole year to get the sound right. Skye was trying to imagine the communication problems across two cultures and all that could be lost in translation, making the process even more tedious, when Stark moved to the table to retrieve a box.
"What's this? A present?" The length of it surprised her. Surely he hadn't managed to find and box a dozen long-stem roses! "I'm sure your cooking hasn't my life in jeopardy enough to warrant this..." She gave him a look, shaking her head a little. Refusing it would be insulting but he really didn't have to do this.
"Well, you haven't seen what it is yet." Stark smirked, rather pleased with himself because it was worth the sick day script he was forced to trade in exchange for the replicator technician's time.
"Here then. The music I told you about last night." She handed him the old folder. "Stravinsky and Chopin. No Beethoven, I'm afraid." But she doubted he needed any. Stark probably had all the Beethoven on database already.
"Chopin," he said approvingly, studying the sheaf of papers contained within. "Don't worry, I'm set for Beethoven and Mozart." Glancing at her, he added, "I hope it isn't too presumptuous."
Her curiosity piqued, Skye opened the box and, after a peek in, just stared at the doctor.
"The rest of it is in the other room," he replied with a smile, delighting in her expression, which for now seemed positive.
"You didn't..." Skye's eye went back on the bow cushioned by silk paper in the box. There was a cello in the other room? Part of her was exalted by the prospect of touching such an instrument again, the rest of her was downright dreading it. "You didn't have to do this." She was at a loss of what else to say.
"I'm afraid I did," he said, stepping into the spare room and returned a moment later with the instrument, its neck tied neatly with a red bow. "It's replicated but it's a perfect copy of Jacqueline Du Pre's Stradivarius. I hope you like it."
"The Du Pre?" Fuck me, Skye thought, surprise and emotion tightening her throat as she took a couple of steps toward him. She'd noticed the bow wasn't carbon fibre and, had she not known better, she would have said it was in fact pernambuco but she didn't expect this. Even if this cello wasn't the real thing, it was still a big deal. Stradivari remained unrivalled as the best luthier there ever was and Jacqueline Du Pre was a genius herself with the cello. Her hand was shaking when she reached out to caress the line of the scroll.
"Well, a replica of The Du Pre." His smile grew wider seeing the pleasure on her face. Christ, she so owned him if this was how she could make him feel just two days into their dating life.
"Still," Skye retorted, wanting him to know she appreciated his effort. "I guess it all rests on the replicator tech."
"Well, I'm hoping the day off I gave him for a defined virus would have inspired his best effort to produce a quality instrument," he said mischievously. "Look, this gift is self-serving. I just wanted to hear you play, you know, check my work on your hand."
"Your work on my hand, huh?" Skye smiled and shook her head again. "I don't know what to say, Stark." She was almost afraid to touch the cello.
"You don't have to say anything," he replied, heading back towards the piano so he could rest the offering of sheet music in the stand. "I'm just glad you like it."
"I do." She shook herself to stop being so stunned about this. "Thank you." She walked into the room to put the instrument back on its stand and went back to the lounge. "You'll have to give me some time before you suggest we do a duet," she joked.
"Depends on the duet," he sang out as he disappeared into the kitchen and was greeted with the aroma of tomato sauce cooking with spices. "Hey, I'm making chicken provençale, it's the only thing I know how to do so I hope you like it."
"Smells great," Skye said a moment later, following him in the kitchen, hands in her front pockets. "It's a nice little place you have. Feels very homey..."
"Thanks," Stark said as he stood over the pot on the stove and stirred. "Some of the stuff is Hans' but since I've moved in, I've been slowly making the place my own. I've only really lived in the house since my last divorce and when I was stationed on the Livingstone, I didn't spent much time here. Since the war though, I've had a chance to do something with the place."
"Well, you certainly paint a real domestic picture right now," she returned, grinning.
Stark made a face. "This is what happens when I let a woman into my fortress of solitude," he joked. "Well, take advantage while you can." He winked at her. "Want to try some?" He used a wooden spoon to allow her a little taste of the simmering sauce.
Fortress of... Only then did Skye realise that she was probably one of the few invited to his house, and she supposed, in hindsight, she should have guessed as much. "Yes, sure." She approached and opened her mouth for the offered spoon.
Feeding her a taste, Stark found himself offering a little warning, unable to resist a little mischief in the process. "I'd blow first," he smirked. "It's hot." His eyes twinkling.
"You would, would you?" Skye met his eyes as he tasted his tomato sauce. "I happen to like it hot." Licking her lips, she nodded. "This is really good."
"Thanks," he said, pleased at the compliment. "Should be ready in about ten minutes." Pausing a moment, he met her gaze with a less salacious look. "I'm glad you came."
"I'm glad you invited me," she returned, straightening up. "And the cello, really, Stark, you didn't have to." She kept saying that but she was also really touched he had. "Now, I'm going to have to play again, won't I? Can't have you go through all that trouble and not touch the thing.
"No, you can't," he said, covering the pot with a lid for the moment and gesturing for her out of the kitchen so he could get her a drink. "Besides, some guys say it with flowers, I say it with musical instruments." He grinned.
"Well, yeah, but you could have gone for a recorder." Skye chuckled. The cello was like buying half the flower shop. "The chicken, whose recipe is it?"
"This is actually my mother's," Stark replied. "This was the only thing she could cook. Famous romance writer, couldn't do anything in the kitchen except describe colourful uses for vegetables, which she'd relate to my people, which is probably why I didn't bring home a lot of friends. Anyway, I've been a rude host, what can I get you to drink?"
"A beer or wine?" Whatever he was having would be fine. He'd gone to enough trouble already. "She really embarrasses you, doesn't she?"
"I've got wine," he answered first and added with a little smile. "It's mostly those kinds of childhood traumas that embarrass me. Sometimes, I look back and cringe and other times, I miss the hell out of her." He paused at the dining table where a bottle of red was waiting for attention. His glass was already half filled and waiting impatiently somewhere in the house. Filling her glass up partway, he handed it to her. "I think it's the fact that most people only remember her for the books that bugs me so much."
"Thanks." Skye nodded and took a sip, welcoming the fruity aroma and its delicate and fresh texture, very like a Pinot Noir from Earth. So the man can choose a wine well, get over it. "Well, maybe that is what most people knew her for."
"It is," he admitted. "She created such a persona around herself that I think that she sometimes got the lines between reality and fiction blurred. She was something though," Stark admitted with a rare moment of fondness for the woman, so often buried under the distaste for her writing.
"I must admit that if it wasn't for the bestsellers' list, I wouldn't have heard of your mother at all." Skye couldn't really apologise for that but felt like she should. Then again, she knew Stark wouldn't have finished that first breakfast with her if he thought she was a fan of his mother's. "She did come across as a colourful character, though I suppose you could have done without her pointers at dating." She winked.
"Christ yeah," he chuckled, walking over to the sofa, a glance in her direction to follow. The sofa appeared leather even though it was a synthetic. The few cows that were able to be cloned were more valuable as breeding stock and genuine leather product was something one could only get from the off world varieties. In any case, Stark didn't much hold with the idea of using animal hide for furniture. Technology had to have some uses after all. "So you like Stravinsky and Chopin?" he asked.
"Chopin and Mendelssohn mostly. Stravinsky is more of a... I don't know, sentimental thing." Skye came to join him and sat down. "One of the first concertos I learned to play inside out, accompanying my absentee mom, was one of his. I guess we both have mommy issues." She grinned. "I find his compositions a bit heavy actually, depressing even."
"Probably why I like Mozart better," Stark nodded, agreeing with her opinion on Stravinsky. "I find his music more uplifting and to tell the truth, in recent years I think everyone's had enough of depressing."
"I'll drink to that," Skye returned, lifting her glass towards him.
Stark met her glass partway and then asked, "I take it things weren't that Norman Rockwell for you and your folks?" He had heard her mention a little about her family and assumed by her comments that it wasn't a happy upbringing but while Stark was mostly embarrassed by his mother, he couldn't deny that she was there at least. Which was more than could be said about Skye's family.
Skye chuckled. "Except maybe for the boy scout part. That could have fallen in line with Rockwell well enough." She was being flippant but only marginally. "They were good people," she started saying when she realised she'd probably already said as much over breakfast - or maybe at dinner. "Just weren't parents material. Too busy with their work. I try not to be so bitter about it but..." She shrugged. "What I remember most are nannies and boarding school." She sighed and looked at Stark. "I mean who sends a six year old to boarding school? I had to be strong, my father used to tell me. Don't cry and be a good girl."
"I'm sorry," he found himself needing to say and regretted asking the question. "I guess that was one of the reasons why what Vera did stung so much," he said quietly. "I get the feeling, that's what she would have done if we did have kids. Or rather that's how she pictured having kids to be. Something we could only enjoy at shore leave."
"Might be a horrible thing to say but maybe it's a good thing she's not a mother then. I mean..." Skye shook her head. She supposed she'd turned out alright, all things considered, but nothing would ever make up for feeling unwanted. "That's why I was being upfront about no children last night. I just don't know how I'd be. My parents were good role models for diplomats and peacemakers but not for parents. I don't want to put a child of mine through that. But, you know, I didn't have the celebrated, quirky mother around to jinx all my dates and scare my friends. I guess that's the upside."
Stark the man took a back seat for the doctor and such fears were not uncommon especially with upbringings like hers. Most of her hesitation was fear of doing the same thing, of perpetuating a legacy of behaviour. He couldn't deny he had wanted to do better than his parents but he felt sad for her that she didn't trust herself enough to know that her own memories would prevent her from inflicting the same on her child. Nevertheless, the ground rules were laid last night and he had no intention of changing them. "I guess I didn't know what kind of parent I was going to be," he said quietly, "I think I would have liked to have considered the question before Vera took it out of my hands."
"Yes. And you should have had that time." Nodding, Skye couldn't deny that he should have been given a say in all this, if only a chance to contemplate the notion of fatherhood. "As petrified as I might be that it's... you know, a genetic thing, if I fell pregnant, I don't know if I could stop it." That took a different kind of woman and Skye hoped to God she wasn't in that league.
"Look," he said gently, not wishing to get a debate started on abortion. "Having a child is a big deal undoubtedly but if you know that's not the right choice for you, you have the right to make an alternative decision. I wish I could have pondered the decision, maybe I could have given her alternatives. I'm angrier by the fact that she didn't give me the chance more than I was mad she didn't want it."
"I know, I get that. You, men, get the short end of the stick on this, though it suits some... " Skye wasn't so naive that she didn't know some men were quite happy to have the choice never landing in their lap. "I totally understand it doesn't suit all of you."
Stark shrugged, opting to move onto something more pleasant. "I better go check on the food before I burn it. Help yourself to more wine if you need a top after that conversation." He grinned and stood up to go into the kitchen.
"Stark." Skye stood up as well. "I don't want you to think I don't appreciate our conversations... even the harder ones." She smiled before going to the table to refill her glass. "You want a top-up too?" she called out after him so he'd hear her from the kitchen.
"Always," he hollered back grateful at that admission. Taking a look under the pot cover, he decided that the meal was finally ready to serve and grabbed a pot holder to remove it from the stove.
The next few minutes were spent laying out the meal on the table, complete with fresh bread and a side dish of fresh steamed vegetables topped with a light smearing of honey.
"Ladies first," Stark said, pulling out the chair for Skye, when the meal was ready.
"Thanks." She put his glass down near his plate and took her seat. "I guess, overall, I'm still hanging around MACOs way too much."
Despite the shift years ago from MACOs to Starfleet Marines, and even more so now with the advent of the Federation, Skye still often found herself referring to the Corps as MACO and not Marines. Even the term Sharks, she didn't used as often because, when it all began, the Sharks were the MACOs posted on the NX-01, not the groundpounders on Gaia, or even the other spacers aboard the other starships. Old habits died hard, even if the term eventually grew to encompass all MACOs.
Grabbing her serviette, she daintily unfolded it and placed it in her lap. "I guess I let myself forget how different it can be." Not that all soldiers were big apes with no manners, but when she socialised with them, it was for hard drinking and a laugh so hardly any manners were required for that. Since Danon there had been only one and Skye knew him from so far back that, while he could be very attentive and thoughtful, their relationship had never been about swooning or courting each other. Up until Bajor, MSgt. Francis Bundy and her had always been about taking the edge off - nothing else.
"It's different for me too," Stark admitted, wanting her to feel a little less self-conscious and more at ease with all this. "You're the first woman I've invited to dinner since..." he trailed off, not needing to say Vera's name again. "I mean the women I usually see aren't interested in pleasant conversation over dinner, they just want to have a good time. I mean that kind of living has its attractions," his eyes lifted to her, "but it's a fleeting pleasure and when it's over, it still feels empty."
She knew what he meant and her expression let him know better than words. They were both nursing the aftermath of a relationship, coping with screwing just about anything in sight or going for near abstinence, and this dating thing was coming out of left field for the both of them.
"And what does Dr. Tennyson Stark wants out of this?" she asked with a teasing smile. "Just go with it and see where it takes you?"
"More or less," Stark admitted coyly, brushing his gaze across her features over the rim of his glass.
"Honestly, I didn't see you coming when you sat down to breakfast. It was an unexpected surprise and I've found that in life, there are too few of those to waste when they come along."
And it was true, he had a feeling in the pit of his gut, no matter how much he tried to deny it that this could be...more. Stark had retreated from the world four years ago when Vera left and knew subconsciously that he had been in a holding pattern, afraid to leave his comfort zone. As much as he hated to admit it, there was a part of him that still believed that you could fall in love with a person and remain so forever. Maybe that much of him was still Desiree Stark's son.
A soft smile touched Skye's lips at his candour. Her hand left the wine glass and reached across the table to cover his fingers. "You're certainly an unexpected and pleasant surprise," she returned the compliment. "And I think you already know I didn't see you coming either. I'm good with going with the flow but I tend to also go for what I want so..." She glanced down a moment, almost embarrassed by this. "I'll try and curb that natural tendency." It wasn't so much that she felt she was ready to jump into another relationship after losing Danon, but if their kissing from the night before was any indication, there was chemistry here she would end up being unable to ignore at some point.
"I rather you not," he said, intertwining his fingers in hers, enjoying the skin against him and revisited by the memory of her kisses the night before. It had been incredibly hard to walk away from her but that one night was more for him, to prove to himself that he could step back into an adult relationship after four years of behaving as if he was a 21 year old living in a college frat house. "I know how I feel and if you feel the same way, let's be stupid and see where this goes. If we're going to do this, it might as well be all or nothing."
"All or nothing, huh? Okay, but I thought you wanted us to pace ourselves... I suppose we could do both," she said, her eyes never leaving his. Or at least try. "So let's start with dinner." She broke the contact before she would do something stupid like forgo the main course and jump to dessert. "It's smells heavenly."
"That's not a word that's usually associated with me." He grinned, glad that she liked it. "And dinner is a good place to start. I guess what I meant to say is that I like things to move along as we feel comfortable but not feeling the need to hold back for any reason. We both got baggage so let's both check it for a change and just enjoy the journey, I guess."
"I like the sound of that." At least here, Skye guessed, his ex-wives couldn't just show up for a chat, and the thought made her grin. She almost felt guilty to be amused at Stark's predicament at the restaurant. The poor man.
"Me too," he replied, raising his glass to her. "Bon appétit."
*****
This time, dinner went smoothly without any interruption from ex-wives or waitresses he might have bedded in the past. Like the night before, Stark found Skye to be pleasant company beyond the chemistry they so obviously generated. When they talked, Stark found a connection that was profoundly intimate without being sexual. He felt her loss for Danon deeply, felt sad for her that the life she had envisioned on Bajor had ended so tragically and at the same time felt grateful that she wasn't still on Bajor with the Dominion's oppression. The meal ended with the dessert, which he cheated by buying from Molly's, crème brulee because baking was beyond him.
"Coffee?" he asked, a teasing smile on his lips.
"Yes, please. You know me and my love affair with the stuff," Skye replied. "Incredibly good choice for the dessert, by the way." She sat back, watching Stark stand up and gather their plates before going to make coffee.
"Thanks," Stark replied as he headed towards the kitchen. "I'm afraid that I cheated. That's from Molly's. Dessert chef is not in my repertoire."
"Still a good choice. I think after this and last night, I might have to give the Beasts' burgers a miss and hang out at Molly's more often." Standing up, she gathered their wine glasses and other stray things from dinner they were done with. Joining him in the kitchen, she deposited her lot on the counter. "Anything I can do? I feel like you're waiting on me, hand and foot, sitting out there..."
He tossed her a smile. "Well, you can grab the cups from that cupboard over there," he gestured. "And like I said, it's been a while since I've had anyone over so I'm getting a refreshing on being host to an evening that doesn't require me to bring whip cream." He winked at her.
She turned to get the cups out but couldn't help throwing over her shoulder, "All these little hints you drop here and there... no request for skipping conversation to jump to the good time part, and now no request for whip cream. I'm taking notes."
"Oh, Christ." He straightened up and looked at her. "I'm behaving too much, aren't I?" He laughed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, I'm trying to rise above my reputation. After all, if Whelan is ready to stage an intervention, I figured I should comport myself appropriately." However, her comment had given him food for thought.
Skye was chuckling, amused by his reaction. "I'm just teasing you. Be as... well, you know, just be yourself. If you want to behave for a while, that's fine. I can always misbehave for us both." She gave him a wink and turned back to the cupboard, looking for the cups.
He shot her back a look and then smirked inwardly, adoring her sense of humour, which was on the wicked side, a reflection of her personality he could certainly get onboard with. "I may hold you to that," he said, returning his attention to the coffee making. "If you don't mind, we can take it near the piano, I might as well play you something as promised."
"Oh, yes! I certainly do not mind." Skye brought him the cups, nudging his elbow with hers on purpose. "I keep looking at your hands," she admitted. "My mother would have pointed out to me, helpfully, that these, daughter-mine, are the hands of a pianist. Look at these fingers!" She grinned. "Of course, my mom had elegant hands and long fingers and played the piano decently enough. To her chagrin, I do not. She did like the idea of me playing the cello though, so she eventually cut me some slack."
"I think your fingers are just perfect," Stark replied, placing the coffee pot on a tray with sugar and milk before lifting it off the table and gesturing her out of the small kitchen area, "I like to think of my hands as surgeon's hands more than anything."
Leaving the kitchen, Stark set down the coffee tray on the small table next to the piano, which usually held his bottle of wine and waited until she set down the cups before pouring.
"Back in the day some would have insured said hands for either reason. Surgeon or pianist. So, you're not just a general practitioner then?"
"Well, as CMO I need to be able to be a diagnostician as well as a general practitioner but I started out as a surgeon and during the war, that was mostly what I did. That's really how Max and I became friends. I saved his leg when saner minds thought it was best to take it off."
Stark had saved McCulloch's leg? You heard things through the grapevine - probably more so when you worked the comms - so she knew the Commander had been seriously injured at Azati but had not known the specifics, and certainly not that it was what had brought both men together. "I bet Commander McCulloch is grateful..." Skye accepted the cup of coffee after making him add milk and plenty of sugar to it. "Thanks."
Stark took a sip of his coffee before he sat down at the piano. He'd left one of his reading chairs close by so she could take up the cello if she wished or simply listen. Resting his fingers against the keys, he began playing Fur Elise, only because it was the one he didn't need music to play.
At first, she didn't sit and simply moved to a spot close by to watch him play. Her coffee forgotten, the popular Beethoven piece pulled her in and she looked on, almost transfixed, as a wave of shivers stole across her skin. Surprising to Skye, the Trill piano had more than an adequate sound and it wasn't hard for her to lose herself in the music even if it had been a long time since she had watched someone play, last night's concert withstanding.
Every so often, he sneaked a gaze at her as she listened to him play, thinking that she never looked lovelier as she stood there, absorbing the sound. He wondered if she knew how much of himself he was opening up for her by letting her see him do this. He didn't play for anyone since Hans had passed. It was a deeply personal thing the music and this piece, which was the first he had learned, was like opening his heart to her. It left him exhilarated and terrified at the same time.
When he played the last note, Skye realised she still stood there and hadn't moved an inch. There was such care and reverence that she guessed this piece of music was linked to his late friend and father figure. "You play beautifully." It wasn't so much that she hadn't believed he could, it was more to do with the man's reputation when he and McCulloch went out. That and the way he chewed his staff and spat them out again. With a grin, she added, "It clashes a bit with your image..."
Stark chuckled. "Yeah, skirt chaser and nightmare boss. I guess this would look a little out of the norm. Then again, you're the first person I've played for in a long time so I'm going to trust you keep my secret safe. Don't want my image to suffer."
"Really? You never play for your mate?" McCulloch didn't strike her as the classical music type but then neither had Stark.
"Max and classical music don't mix. He likes popular music from the late 20th century, usually something with loud electric guitars and someone attempting to sing," Stark replied. "Besides, I rather play for someone who appreciates it. How about you? Want to try your hand at a duet?" He waggled his brows suggestively at her.
A duet? "Damn, Stark." She should have seen it coming. "I haven't played in... hell, over fifteen year. I don't even know if I still can," she admitted, unconsciously flexing the fingers of her left hand. Receiving the instrument earlier had been emotional enough for her, she'd at least expected to be able to reacquaint herself with it in the privacy of her own cardboard box. (She'd taken to think of her place as that ever since Stark picked her up the night before.) She let out a shaky breath, not wanting to refuse him since he'd been so gracious but still not really comfortable with the idea. "I might need something stronger than this." She gestured to her cup of coffee before she went to put it back down on the tray. It wasn't a no, though.
"Hey," he reached for her when she came close enough. "I didn't mean to pressure you into anything," he said, looking up at her. "I thought you might like to." He hid his hope that she would play because like her, he had studied her hands and Stark had no doubt that she would be able to play, even if she was a little out of practice.
"Because of you, part of me is itching to pick it up again," she confessed as much, a soft smile erasing the frown on her face. She squeezed the hand that held hers and reached for the side of his face with the other, brushing her knuckles against his skin in barely a whisper of a touch before she could think better of it. When he looked at her like this, she suddenly realised he could have her do just about anything. "Promise me you won't laugh..."
"Scout's honour," he said, tilting his head into her palm, warmed by the caress of her hand against his face, feeling the connection between them strengthen each time they touched. "Of course, I was never a scout but I promise I won't laugh." He winked at her.
"You've probably earned some badges and you don't even know," she joked, chuckling as she stepped back to go retrieve the instrument. "Being able to hold your liquor, able to award multiple orgasms..." she let trail, her turn to give him a wicked wink before she disappeared in the spare room.
Stark stared after her as she disappeared into the room, having to agree with most of what she said and perhaps wanting to opportunity to prove it. Shaking the thought out of his head for the moment, he returned to the sheet music she had brought, he selected something that they could play together. Rostropovich's Beethoven Sonata .3, a piece that was a duet of piano and cello. "We can try this one," he said as she emerged. "Beethoven Sonata 3."
"Great minds think alike." Skye had been wracking her brain, trying to think what they could both play and naturally, given Stark's appreciation for Beethoven, her search had leaned in that composer's direction. The Sonata in A Major, Op. 69 would lend itself beautifully to this exercise. Written in the early 19th century, any cellist worth his salt learned it.
She brought the cello with her, on the way retrieving the bow from the box she had left it in, and came to sit on the chair not too far from the piano.
"Definitely," he said, handing her the sheet music so she could prop it up on the small stand he sometimes used for the piano. "I believe the cello opens," Stark replied and set his fingers on the keys of the piano, ready to play when appropriate.
"Yeah, put all the pressure on me," she returned smartly. Bringing the cello into position, she felt the weight and feel of it, this one so alien and different from the cello she had back on Earth, but also the lines and the intrinsic smell of the wood and varnish familiar in a way. When she brought the bow to the strings, the stick feeling different as well, she found she couldn't bring herself to play. She gave a nervous glance at Stark before she looked back down, schooling her posture and chasing the tremors from her hands like she did when she held a sniper rifle. She slid the bow across the four strings and winced a little as the new instrument obviously needed tuning. "Would you give me a 'c'?"
"Sure," he said, striking the chord on the piano and letting the sound echo through the room, giving her the start she needed. He'd been watching her get into position, her back straightening slightly, her delicate hands fingering the strings and found himself so mesmerized by the image that when she had spoken, he had been slightly startled. "How's that?" he asked her.
"The 'a' below it," she asked after nodding at his middle 'c'. "Thank you." From there she tuned her first string and the other three and then played a few harmonics, trepidation mounting in her again. "The things you make me do... okay..." She started humming the beginning of the piece as she read the notes on the sheet, revisiting the melody.
Smiling, Stark gave her the 'a' note she asked for and then added, "Well, I'm working my way up to the good stuff." He joked and then added, "Hey, you'll get the hang of it, it's like riding a 19 year old, you never forget how," he teased.
"Right." Shaking her head, she said as she smiled, "Sixteen years on, the 19 year old is now much older." She tried the first bar, stopped, adjusted her position and tried again, the fingers of her left hand refamiliarising themselves with the strings, with the pressure and movements needed. "Okay, let's try this." With a nod in his direction, she started the first movement, the sound of the cello transporting her back into a past she'd lost a long time ago.
Stark took a moment to admire her features as concentration transcended into immersion in the music before he started playing himself, joining her in the private concert. While she was rusty, there was enough skill in her fingers to ensure any listener wouldn't be too critical of it. Indeed when he joined her, Stark found it an amazing feeling to be creating music with someone else, something he'd never done before. His piano playing was always a personal thing even when Hans taught him, he hadn't really done duets like this. In any case, wherever Skye was at this moment, she'd unwittingly tugged Stark into the same place.
Skye found she remembered it for the most part, and the passages she didn't, she knew the piece well enough overall to fudge it. She just had to follow the piano.
The piece was subtle with crescendos here and there and while some parts saw them playing concert, most of it saw a chase of piano and cello, notes pursuing each other as the pace grew in tempo. It was beautifully intimate and uplifting all at once. Stark wondered why he hadn't thought to play with another person before this and then found that he was grateful he hadn't. This was an unexpected surprise, one that he'd forever associate with Skye.
Variations and contrasts pulled her from memories and choking emotions, making Skye seek Stark's eyes every so often in acknowledgement and acquiescence to their melodic interplay. She was having fun, she realised, and found herself utterly ridiculous for ever thinking she was accomplishing anything by giving up playing. Fingertips were starting to hurt after so many years without playing, the calluses long gone, and her fingers were cramping up, but she pushed through. She'd done it as a girl and she'd bled much through far more serious pain since than this for her to stop.