Sebastian Stan Short Stories

TJ Hammond [2]

"Duet"

Post series end, no spoilers (I think)

*

"Do you realize I'm in the middle of teaching of a class?" I asked, looking around the symphony hall at the five young cellists sitting around me. There I was, talking on my phone and being a hypocrite.

"Do you realize the President's son is requesting your presence and expertise as a music teacher?" TJ returned without missing a beat.

"This is a master's class for prodigies. I can't walk out," I explained, avoiding the innocent yet damming stares coming from my students.

"Please. Pretty please," he begged. I knew that if I could see him, his bottom lip would be poked out.

"Fine," I snapped. I hung up the phone, dismissed my class, and left the hall.

*

An hour later I was standing outside what had once been the Secretary of State's home but now belonged to one of her sons. TJ's house. I knocked on the door after checking in with the Secret Service agents parked in a nondescript car across the road and waited for TJ to let me in.

"Oh, you're here. Good, come in," he directed. I slipped past him in the doorway, receiving a quick kiss on the cheek, and walked inside, the sound of a metronome clicking through the surround sound with some sort of orchestra performance overlaying it. The noise was deafening.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" I asked, covering my ears and heading for the stereo controls. I turned the volume to a much more civil level and waited for an answer.

"I'm rehearsing," TJ admitted shyly. Only now that I could focus did I see the stacks of sheet music around the grand piano.

"You're rehearsing?"

I left the stereo and took a seat on the piano bench, checking out the music he must have been practicing. It was an easy, lounge piece. A little bluesy, not too interesting. I laid my fingers on the keys and began picking through the phrases until it sounded musical.

"You know, I always hated how well you could look at sheet music and just go," he pointed out. He sat down on the edge of the bench and scooted me over, forcing the music to go up an octave as I moved my hands.

"And I always hated how well you could improvise," I returned. If only to prove my point, he put his hands to the keys and began playing a countermelody. "So why do you need me here? What are you rehearsing for?"

"I have a gig," he announced somewhat proudly. He sat up a little straighter and began playing with obnoxious flare.

"Are we in the tenth grade again?" I teased. I abandoned my end of the piano and began sifting through the other songs.

"No, of course not. I have a performance. There. Is that better?"

"Sure," I laughed. "Where and when?"

"D.C. Philharmonic. Next week," he answered simply, as if those words meant nothing important.

"What the hell, TJ? The philharmonic?" I asked, turning to face him and slap him on the arm. He winced dramatically but didn't miss a note. "What are you playing?"

"Don't get too excited," he warned. "Post-recovery drug addicts have to prove themselves in the lobby first. I'm playing the bar."

"I see why you have so many lounge songs out," I said. He nodded and fell seamlessly into another song. "But I don't see why you need my help. You're doing fine."

"You have a better ear," he answered. He wasn't even looking at the music anymore. He must have really been practicing.

"A lot of my things are better than yours," I told him jokingly. He knocked his shoulder into mine, and I nearly fell off the bench. "You're playing fine. You haven't missed a note. You're casual and fun to watch, but not showboating. The songs aren't boring. I'd tip you."

"Yeah, but you know me," he said dramatically. "No one else knows me like you do."

He laid his head on my shoulder, all while continuing to play, and I kissed his forehead.

"There's always an ulterior motive, TJ. What is it?"

"This," he said simply. He brought his head off my shoulder and put his lips to mine. The music ended I was frozen in place for a split second, causing him to pull away. "Sorry, had to check something."

"I forgot," I whispered. I took over at the piano, falling into a recital piece from nearly a decade ago. TJ rubbed his hand across the back of his neck anxiously. "Don't worry about it."

I played through the song as perfectly as I had ten years ago, finished it, and stood up from the bench. TJ followed slowly, watching as I grabbed my purse from the floor. He was at my side before I could walk away, holding my hand.

"I didn't mean to surprise you," he apologized.

"I've gotten used to it, TJ. Every six months or so, you kiss me. It gets awkward for a little while, then we're friends again," I clarified. "Text me the details for when you'll be playing at the philharmonic. I've got an annual pass, so I'll be there."

I started to walk away but his hand on my arm kept me. Then his hand was on my waist and sliding across my back to pull me against his chest. He was kissing me again, more purposefully. And I was kissing him. The man I considered my gay best friend. I was kissing him and he was kissing me.

*

Author's Note:

It always feels a little weird to write anything heterosexual for a gay character, but TJ made it known in the last episode of the series that he likes to double check his sexuality. So, I don't feel too bad.