reddwarfslash | Fic: Recital Day (PG)

Disclaimer: I have no legal stake in this, it's just an all-consuming hobby.
Genfic.

Arnold Rimmer eyed the long, narrow flight of stairs nervously from his bedroom door. If I don’t make any noise, he wagered to himself, then she’ll come to the recital. He knew that superstition was silly, but he couldn’t help but believe that it served a sort of purpose; if he succeeded in his self appointed tasks good luck would follow, but if he didn’t… well, he wasn’t willing to risk it. Each day as he came home, he’d toe the edges of the sidewalk, taking care to step on each crack with his right foot first, and then his left foot. If he missed a crack he would feel as though his feet were uneven, and would have to walk all the way back to the start of the sidewalk and start over. That was an everyday dilemma, but this was a one time deal. It should be easy.

He balanced his slight weight between the banister and the wall, tip toeing the length of steps, skipping the fourteenth and then the sixth that squeaked on the outside edge. He landed lightly at the foot of the stairs, and took half a moment to be pleased with himself before Howard and Frank thundered down the stairs behind him, shoving him aside. He regained his balance and ran after them to the kitchen, where John was already shoving mouthfuls of buttered toast into his mouth, as his mother nagged at him to eat properly, and his father ignored them all behind the mask of the local newspaper. He attempted to take the chair closest to his mother, but Frank got there first and shoved him off. His father’s hand rose from behind the paper and smacked first Frank’s cheek, then his own.

“No roughhousing at the table.” Growled his father, a terribly solid, intimidating man. Arnold had seen much larger, stronger men, but none of them were quite as scary as Father, somehow. Frank rubbed his sore cheek and grunted in annoyance, and began to load his plate with eggs and toast. Arnold stifled a whimper, tears coming to his eyes despite his best efforts. Howard sneered at him, clearly enjoying his struggle to put on a brave face. He looked down at his own plate, through his blurred vision he could see his mother’s hands as she wiped them on her apron, and doled out a spoonful of baked beans for him.

“Hurry up and finish. You need to practice the piano.” Her tone was stern and brisk. “I don’t want you to embarrass us today.”

His father put down the paper and frowned. “The boy’s already an embarrassment. Piano playing is for girls.” He glared across the table. “Couldn’t be bothered with a sport. You don’t need brains to play ball.”

Arnold‘s heart began beating furiously, and he swallowed large mouthfuls of his breakfast as quickly as he could.

“I don’t want to hear it from you this morning.” His mother snapped, stacking the plates in the sink with an angry clanking noise. “Those lessons are expensive. Even if he’s no good-“

Arnold hastily excused himself and sprinted from the room, and into the back room where the upright piano was kept. He eyed the hulking piece of musical furniture with ambivalence. Practice was boring, but it was also peaceful. Besides, if he didn’t make any mistakes today, and Mother saw… He pulled himself onto the bench, and put his fingers on the heavy keys. If I don’t make any mistakes on my scales, he wagered, then I won’t make any mistakes at the recital, and Mother will be proud. His fingers shook as he concentrated on the notes.