Moonlight Sonata
a short mood piece by
vanhunks
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Voyager, Janeway and Chakotay.
Summary: A beautiful sonata played by a beautiful woman.
NOTE: This story is based on challenge by Black Jaguar. A picture of a piano and a red rose.
MOONLIGHT SONATA
The notes - clear as silver bells or shiny droplets newly formed just before they plunged with delicate reluctance to earth - were haunted, tinged with great sadness. Kathryn's fingers darted over the keys, a soft cadence of sound and balance that did not disturb, yet the rose, perched atop the instrument quivered as if at any moment it would fall to the floor.
She didn't look down, nor did she cast him a glance. Her head was thrown back in breathless enjoyment of the moment. She was engrossed in the music that seemed to find its way from her heart into the heart of the instrument. What was this Kathryn? She played with ease, her body swaying gently to the rhythm as the notes in all their sublime elegance filled the room. He had known she would choose a setting in which only she, the piano and the rose were in soft silhouette against the low illumination in the great room. Moonlight sleeping on a midnight lake…
No, even if he wanted to, he could only make out form, as much as he could fill himself with the awe of the masterpiece. Yet, intrinsically, by her stance, the grace of a cat, the way her head inclined, he knew it was Kathryn.
Beethoven's was born of the heavens, exquisitely delivered to his ear to receive its magnificence.
Yet, it couldn't be.
Once, Kathryn told him she regretted never having learned to play an instrument.
As if that thought triggered his senses away from the illusion, one by one, the petals dropped from the rose, just like the sound of the silver droplets, floating with delicate reluctance to the floor.
He didn't turn when the holodeck doors swished, nor did he look down at Kathryn who stood next to him. He knew her by the smell of her hair - always a richness of apples and brandy and flowers. He couldn't decide which fragrance, except that it was so...just Kathryn. He knew her eyes were on the tableau in front of them - a lone figure at a grand piano, rose petals drifting down.
"It's how I wished I could play."
He voice was tinged with regret, sadness.
He understood her. This was their little secret, their indulgence.
"You shouldn't be sad."
"No?"
"No."
"Why not? Can you take away my regret?"
"I can't. You know that."
He touched her stomach, a light, reverent touch. He kissed her hair, then gazed into her eyes. He prayed fervently that she would understand.
"Who knows?" he asked, softly.
Kathryn sighed. A little pause, one in which his heart thundered. Then her voice.
"Computer, delete programme."
He breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Kathryn gripped his hand that still rested against her stomach, felt the first stirrings of a kick. A smile transformed the sadness into joy.
"Yes…who knows?"
***
END