Title:
Curing BasophobiaAuthor:
Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)Rating:
PGPairing
: David/KeithSpoilers:
For the season three finaleFeedback:
Makes my dayDisclaimer:
If it was in the show, it's not mine.Archive:
At my site The Band Gazebo (helsinkibaby.ahkay.net) Anywhere else please ask first.Summary:
David's always been too afraid of falling to ever want to fly.Author's Note:
Basophobia - fear of flying. For the LiveJournal Writer's Choice "Falling" challenge, and I must protest this. I did not want to write Six Feet Under fic, certainly not David/Keith fic… is it my fault that David Fisher set up shop in my head and wouldn't shut up?***
If he's asked, or even if he's not, David always thinks of himself as the stable one of the Fisher kids. He's the one who stayed at home, the one who went into the family business, the one that everyone can rely on.
Not like Claire, the butterfly who flits from one thing to the next, never staying long.
Not like Nate, the eldest child, who flew away from home as soon as he could, finally coming to roost in Seattle.
David's not like them.
David's always been too afraid of falling to ever want to fly.
Then he goes to church one sunny Sunday morning, not St Bart's, where his parents go, but St Stephen's in West Hollywood. He hasn't been going there for long, but he likes it, feels welcome there, and it's a relief not to have to pretend to be something that he's not.
He's doing nothing of consequence, thinking of nothing of consequence when he looks up and sees him there, a man whose looks are so striking that David's literally speechless. He's getting out of his car, points the little alarm thing at it almost viciously, as if it's done something to offend him. Then he turns around and walks into the chapel, moving with an easy confidence that David finds incredibly attractive, alluring even.
He finds it so alluring in fact, that he makes it a point to sit at the back, finds himself staring at the stranger for the entire duration of the service, and when he gets home later that day, he can't remember a thing about the sermon, but he can remember every little thing about that guy.
He makes discreet enquires, always discreet, even at St Stephen's, and he finds out that the man's name is Keith Charles, that he's a cop, that he's available. He likes the name Keith, likes the fact that he's a cop; it's as if Keith would be able to make him feel safe, protected, like less of an outsider in his own life. And if he's really honest, the image of Keith in a uniform doesn't hurt either.
The last morsel of information, that Keith is available, he's less sure of what to do with. Because there's no way a guy who looks like that would ever be interested in him.
It doesn't stop him from looking though, even from timing his arrival on Sundays so that he can pull up beside Keith's car, in the hopes that someday, he'll pluck up enough courage to start a conversation.
He never does though, until the day that there's a buffet set up on the grounds outside the church. He's picking at it, doesn't want to spoil Mom's Sunday roast, when there's a voice at his arm.
"Come on," it says, and it's deep and low and all those good sounds that make the hairs on the back of David's neck stand to attention. "The food can't be that bad."
David knows that voice, has heard it over the last few weeks, but he can't believe that it's talking to him. But he looks up anyway, turns to see Keith standing beside him, smiling.
Wonder of wonders, David's able to come up with a witty comeback, and, the ice broken, they have a long conversation.
By the end of it, Keith has his number, has given David his, and David is smiling, and falling, but he's not afraid. In fact, he's never felt so good.
