Title: Clarinet Author: Rob Vrablik Disclaimer: Paramount owns the character, I own the mood. I’m not sure who owns the Clarinet. Note : This piece has been set at various times. It started out as a piece exploring the post loss Harry of “Timeless”. Then it was at the end of the final season, after (I have to assume) Harry’s bidding of goodbye to Seven for the last time. It was pointed out by Jamelia that this could be Harry now, what with the loss of Ballard, lack of interest from Seven, etc. So put this where ever you want, though I tend to think of this as being mature Harry, not early Harry. * * * Harry entered his quarters. He removed his com badge and placed it on the dresser. Changing out of his uniform, he put it in the pile for cleaning and donned a loose shirt he often wore when off duty. He then dimmed the lights, and pulled a chair to the middle of the room. He went to the cabinet and pulled out his clarinet case. He opened the case, took each piece out, and assembled the instrument. When done, he sat down in the chair. He sat in silence for a few moments, then sat up, took the clarinet in his hands, flexed the valves, and asked the computer to start the piece. He started playing at the usual place, as the various instruments joined to support the melody. The piece grew as it moved, gathering more instruments and harmonies as it went, flowing and building. It was one of those pieces that seemed to have a life of its own, that had the ability to grab you and pull you along with it as it explored, regardless of how many times one heard it. It would flow and carry you with it, becoming for a brief time the complete focus of mind, soul, and body. Harry faltered, tried to pick it back up, and faltered again. The music went on without him. “Computer, pause.” Harry closed his eyes to gather his thoughts, stared at the wall, gathered his resolve, and resumed the program. The music continued, and he attempted to rejoin, but each time he tried, it seemed the proper point in the music had passed. It was as if he couldn’t keep up. The world was flowing by too fast, and he couldn’t maintain the pace. After a few such attempts, he gave up. “Computer, end program” Harry turned his clarinet and looked at it. He felt betrayed. It wasn’t working. It had always worked before, but now it did not. He would sit and he would play. The music would take him up, absorb him, pull him in. It would wrap him in its embrace, and then slowly extract the pain. The music would start, and after a while, he wouldn’t notice his surroundings as much. The music would first erase the room. Then the world would fade. Next the awareness of his own physical being would start to fade as he drifted with the music. And then, finally, it would take his pain. The pain would leave him as the cadences progressed, the nuances and flows returning a rhythm to his being, forcing him to get back up, to breathe, to care, to live. When it was done he would be, if not whole, functional again. The pain, if not completely gone, would be at least bearable, lessened for a while. But now it wasn’t working. He knew the motions, he knew the script, but it was as if he were on the outside watching someone else. It no longer touched him. Instead, the effort simply left him empty and hollow, numb. Harry had expected oblivion, and instead had found frustration. The clarinet dropped in his hand, and he stared at nothing. Eventually he stood and walked over to the case. He started to take the instrument apart. He took special care to clean and place each piece in its proper location. When he was done, he looked at the disassembled instrument and lightly brushed his fingers across the smooth surface. He slowly closed the case, carried it back to the cabinet, and returned it to its place on the shelf. He closed the cabinet, turned, and left. The door closed behind him, leaving just the empty chair sitting in a small circle of light in the middle of the room.