Work Text:
Erich was expected; he had been invited for lunch. Come early, Bigglesworth had said, come in the morning. He hadn’t known what to bring. Gifts had seemed wrong – inappropriate somehow and opened on the wrong day and he didn’t know what to purchase for any of them. He’d settled for pastries, candied sweets, a good bottle of wine.
Bigglesworth opened the door at his first knock and welcomed him over the threshold. Erich would never be able to stop a slight flicker of unease (carefully hidden) at stepping into this den, even knowing he was welcome. It was so very much their place.
He stopped dead the instant he set foot inside. There was music. He’d thought he’d heard something on the stairs, but it was clear now.
“Liszt,” he said blankly.
“It’s just Algy. Sunday morning music, he calls it. We don’t do church. I know it’s not Sunday, but Ginger’s broken the radio. He promises he’ll fix it before the Queen’s speech.”
“Lacey is playing?” He found himself whispering. “May I just stand for a moment and listen.”
Biggles, concerned, took his hat and helped him with packages and coat.
A man sometimes hears things with different ears, Erich thought. And this, this. This was Mutter, and a bright sunny room with tall windows and long, long blue velvet curtains. Daffodils. A different time of year. A different life.
Before – before everything.
The piece ended and he was ushered into the sitting room. Bigglesworth pressed him down into an armchair and stood close, trying to pretend he wasn’t hovering, clearly torn between offering him tea or something stronger.
The room was as expected, clean but with the random untidy clutter of four men living together. Pleasantly warm. Bright fire, decorated tree in one corner, evidence of unwrapped gifts.
Hebblethwaite was curled on the sofa, still clad in dressing gown and pyjamas, half watching Lacey play and half asleep.
No sign of Lissie or the dog. Perhaps they were out.
Lacey at the piano, of course. He’d always had a good deal of respect for Lacey, though he would never have admitted it out loud. His courage, his tenacity, his unwavering devotion to Bigglesworth and the rest of his comrades. He would not have expected this though, this skill from him.
Not like this.
“Oh, hullo,” Lacey said, attention drifting briefly from the instrument. “Any requests? Something more Christmassy?”
It took Erich a moment to realise it was a genuine question.
“I – no. Yes. The Liebestraum again, if you please? Continue. Please, again?”
There was something in Lacey’s eyes and the twitch of his mobile mouth that spoke of understanding. He nodded, and began.