Symphony (David, PG)
Title: Symphony
Fandom: LOST
Characters: David Shephard
Rating: PG
Word Count: 546
Summary: Practice makes perfect. (written for the lostsquee ficlet challenge)
It begins on a soft note, innocent scales they play together, Jack's large hands guiding David's fingers. The smell of pancakes and bacon cooking drift in from the kitchen while he sits on his dad's lap, squinting his eyes at a piece of paper covered in dots and lines. It's not long before this strange alphabet becomes his second language.
The childlike chords grow sharp too quickly, low and messy. Tension crackles in the air, when his parents fight and when they don't fight. He hates it when they don't - that sudden jarring stop, fingers dangling in the silence, what note do I play next?
He doesn't have to wait long to collide once again with the black and white, but it's all wrong. It's too loud and choppy, chords that clash and bang together. He needs to stop, to rub his tensing knuckles, but David's never been one for quitting. He keeps going even when it starts to fall apart. If his parents were musicians, maybe they would understand. But they're doctors, and when the patient dies they move along. They don't get to start over.
They split up, and it's like half of his sheet music has been ripped out. He has to flip back between the torn book and the loose pages, and it makes him dizzy. It's impossible to make any sense of it, so he throws them away and tries to play from memory.
Jack doesn't notice the pile of papers in his trashcan, fidgets when he tells David we're going to Grandma's. His parents sit across from each other in his grandparents' living room, smiling too wide, teeth bared. They regale Margo and Christian with embarrassing baby stories to fill the silence. It's almost like old times, the same tune in the wrong key. He squirms and Christian comes to his rescue, so, how about those Red Sox?
David trips up towards the middle of the song, his dad handling the conductor's baton the way he handles the X-Box controller, turning it about in his hands with a worried look on his face. He jams his fingers unproductively against the buttons, not sure I understand how this thing works. David sighs and puts the game away. He shouldn't have to explain, shouldn't need to remind the doctor not to give up on the patient.
Soon he decides that particular song is just not worth it. Mom doesn't seem too worried, doesn't ask him why he keeps his lessons a secret from Jack. Chalks it up to teenage rebellion. Goodness knows if anyone has the right to it, it's him. He almost wishes she would ask, that for once someone would drag him away from the piano to tell him that yes, his family is messed up, but they'll never stop loving him, never stop trying. Practice, practice, practice makes better. It doesn't have to be perfect.
Somehow Jack finds out anyway. The look on his face when he hears David play makes his stomach twist in anxiety and excitement, rivaling the audition itself. Jack tells David his performance was perfect, that he's sorry and he wants to try. It's like Jack is seeing him for the first time.
David finally lifts his hands from the keys and smiles in satisfaction.
Fandom: LOST
Characters: David Shephard
Rating: PG
Word Count: 546
Summary: Practice makes perfect. (written for the lostsquee ficlet challenge)
It begins on a soft note, innocent scales they play together, Jack's large hands guiding David's fingers. The smell of pancakes and bacon cooking drift in from the kitchen while he sits on his dad's lap, squinting his eyes at a piece of paper covered in dots and lines. It's not long before this strange alphabet becomes his second language.
The childlike chords grow sharp too quickly, low and messy. Tension crackles in the air, when his parents fight and when they don't fight. He hates it when they don't - that sudden jarring stop, fingers dangling in the silence, what note do I play next?
He doesn't have to wait long to collide once again with the black and white, but it's all wrong. It's too loud and choppy, chords that clash and bang together. He needs to stop, to rub his tensing knuckles, but David's never been one for quitting. He keeps going even when it starts to fall apart. If his parents were musicians, maybe they would understand. But they're doctors, and when the patient dies they move along. They don't get to start over.
They split up, and it's like half of his sheet music has been ripped out. He has to flip back between the torn book and the loose pages, and it makes him dizzy. It's impossible to make any sense of it, so he throws them away and tries to play from memory.
Jack doesn't notice the pile of papers in his trashcan, fidgets when he tells David we're going to Grandma's. His parents sit across from each other in his grandparents' living room, smiling too wide, teeth bared. They regale Margo and Christian with embarrassing baby stories to fill the silence. It's almost like old times, the same tune in the wrong key. He squirms and Christian comes to his rescue, so, how about those Red Sox?
David trips up towards the middle of the song, his dad handling the conductor's baton the way he handles the X-Box controller, turning it about in his hands with a worried look on his face. He jams his fingers unproductively against the buttons, not sure I understand how this thing works. David sighs and puts the game away. He shouldn't have to explain, shouldn't need to remind the doctor not to give up on the patient.
Soon he decides that particular song is just not worth it. Mom doesn't seem too worried, doesn't ask him why he keeps his lessons a secret from Jack. Chalks it up to teenage rebellion. Goodness knows if anyone has the right to it, it's him. He almost wishes she would ask, that for once someone would drag him away from the piano to tell him that yes, his family is messed up, but they'll never stop loving him, never stop trying. Practice, practice, practice makes better. It doesn't have to be perfect.
Somehow Jack finds out anyway. The look on his face when he hears David play makes his stomach twist in anxiety and excitement, rivaling the audition itself. Jack tells David his performance was perfect, that he's sorry and he wants to try. It's like Jack is seeing him for the first time.
David finally lifts his hands from the keys and smiles in satisfaction.