Fic :: (Cook/Archuleta) "we're everything but harmony (the 'the words you heard before' remix)"
While catching up on the crazy amount of comments I've missed as of late I realized that while it was revealed I wrote it like... a month ago? I forgot to post my calledmelovely remix here. :) I wrote it for a really awesome piece by kimmay7 which you will most likely have to read before you read mine because... well. It won't make sense otherwise? Either way! FIC! I still write that... occasionally. When my brain isn't entirely broken.
Title: we’re everything but harmony (the ‘the words you heard before’ remix)
Rating: R for language
Warnings: none
Word Count: 2376
Summary: Cook takes the long way around to find what he really wants.
Original story: we’re everything but harmony by kimmay7
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the fictional versions of the persons portrayed here and the actual persons is purely coincidental. No infringement intended, and no profits made.
Notes: rajkumari905 saved me in a lot of ways. ♥
“Buckteeth?”
“No.”
“Excessive back hair?”
“How would I even-? No.”
“In a weird turn of fate he actually turned out to be a 15 year old girl?”
Cook covered his face with both hands. “How are we related?”
“Don’t worry, only by DNA,” Andrew deadpanned. When he forced himself to move his hands so he could properly glare, he found a familiar self-satisfied smile on his brother’s face. “Look, you’d think with how much you’ve talked about this guy you’d be able to get over his BO…?”
“No matter how hard you guess there is no way you’re going to get this, man.” David took a long pull to finish his third beer.
For a second Cook thought that might actually be the end of the conversation but his relief was temporary as Andrew opened his mouth. “Visible third nipple? An ex? Escaped convict? … Charlie Sheen?”
His head made an echoing thwack where it hit the kitchen table and his (thankfully empty) bottle of beer fell to its side and crashed onto the kitchen floor. He didn’t make a move to grab it; instead he talked into the crook of his arm. “It’s David.”
“Como?"
"It was David... Archuleta. My boss's son?"
"Prissy David you've been bitching about?"
Cook nodded his head, the idea sinking in just a little bit further into his sub conscience. "Yeah, that one."
His brother was dead silent for a solid minute before Cook realized he was shaking with laughter. Wasn't that just the frosting on the shit cupcake?
"And I'm reminded why I never tell you anything."
"Come on!" Andrew choked out through a few chuckles. "That's funny! The boy you've been bitching about is the boy you've been mooning after? That's something Shakespeare would come up with! Or like, Lifetime at least."
Cook pushed back from his seat, stood up and walked to the fridge for another beer. He turned in the direction of his room. "I'm going now."
"Wait!"
Against his better judgment he paused to look back. "What?"
"It's like that movie! The one with... fuck. The girl who fakes it?" Andrew had a shit-eating grin on his face and Cook rolled his eyes as he walked out before his brother figured it out and made him watch it or something.
*
from: you {eta.carinae82@gmail.com}
to: him {lechuga.14@gmail.com}
subject: re: why?
I was halfway there when I realized that I’d left something important at home. By the time I got back to the shop you must have gone home.
“Sure, make it sound like he was the one who fucked up,” Cook groaned and rubbed his face before he deleted the lame attempt at an explanation.
You know how small the world is? Pretty fucking small.
He could picture the sour look on David’s face at the curse word and his stomach churned. It wasn’t like he expected the guy to see the humor in the situation when the last thing it felt like was funny. He hit the erase key and stared at the blinking cursor for a solid minute.
I’m sorry.
He’d said it at the coffee shop but of course David didn’t know whom it had been coming from. It was something entirely stupid on his behalf, going in with his defenses up and expecting David not to reciprocate in kind. He hadn’t actually known how much David would bite back, or to what degree but it didn’t matter.
Cook had seen the hurt and fear in David’s eyes when he was barking out the insults. Knew that wherever he was, Lechuga-- David was beating himself up about the things he said. It made the guilt and hurt amplify in his chest.
He groaned and hit the “discard” button before he stood up and face planted onto his bed. He didn’t even bother to turn out the light before he fell asleep.
*
Cook wasn’t sure what he expected when he walked through the door the next afternoon. An annoyed David, at least. He got that every day, in some way or another. But David didn't seem annoyed, or even upset. He just looked tired. Maybe a little deflated and broken hearted, which caught Cook off guard enough that it made everything he did seem more complicated.
The third time he messed up a Gin and Tonic (how he screwed that up once was beyond him, let alone twice more) he had to force himself to stop staring at the other guy. It was a distraction and not one he needed. He hadn't had the job long enough to depend on his charms to get him by.
He wasn't surprised when that night, he came home to an empty email box. He checked every twenty minutes, just in case, but really what did he expect? David's last email had pretty much left it up to Cook to fix things.
so tell me why?
How was he expected to answer that?
Well, you aren't who I thought you were. Or I'm not who you thought I was. We don't like each other and really there isn't much to do about it. Because, well. If I tell you who I am you are going to turn tail and run. You don't want to know who I am.
The idea had been niggling at the back of his mind all day. The fact that maybe the fact that he was the one to find out before David did was a good thing. Because the guy he'd talked to over the last few weeks, the guy who was apparently David Archuleta, was the type to try and make things better at all cost. He would back track and apologize and even probably feel bad about the whole thing. None of that seemed even remotely appealing to Cook.
And when it came down to it, it always meant the same thing. He would lose Lechuga.
So maybe it was for the best for him to just let it happen as it did. Let the whole mess be over with. He and David could both just move on and David would never know who was behind the emails.
Cook could almost make himself believe that that would make things easier.
*
Cook hadn’t ever exactly gone out of his way to pay attention to the guy, but damned if it wasn't all he could do over the next few days. He knew, on some level, that he worked there and that he had always been around but it was like when he got a new car and all of a sudden all he saw was that car everywhere. He turned around and David was right there. Taking orders, greeting guests, talking to the other workers.
It was distracting and annoying and doing absolutely nothing for Cook’s personal quest to just move the hell on.
He thought it would be easier if he didn't tell David about the fact that they'd been chatting with each other for months completely unbeknownst to either of them but it really wasn't. He felt even more alone and frustrated most of the time and every time he caught the kind of crest fallen look on David’s face he had to stop himself from going over and ... well. He didn't even know. Hugging him? Telling him the truth? Emailing him under the counter just to see if it would get him to smile?
Each day when he got home from the bar his brother would drill him about the day, like that was helpful at all. Every day, without fail, he would do his best to act like the day had gone by quietly and without incident. He damned genetics and the fact that Andrew knew him better than anyone else because he could never get the lie to stick with his brother.
"Here's a thought," Andrew tapped his chin like he was really thinking it through. "You could just TELL him what’s going on, figure out all the drama and move the heck on? Your angst is actually transferring itself to me and cock-blocking me by default. Not cool, David. Not. Cool."
He dreamt of what it would be like if his parents had gotten a dog instead.
It pained him to admit that Andrew had a valid point. (Not about the cock-blocking, with the stupid moustache he was sporting he did that successfully for himself.) Each day seemed to pass a little slower then the day before and all the reasons he'd rationalized the first night seemed to fly out the window. He wasn't exactly sure it was a great idea, but he knew it was better than doing absolutely nothing at all.
*
He had the day off, but still he went in to work. He wasn’t sure what had him convinced that he needed to talk to David RIGHTTHATMINUTE but it was like a bur in his side that he couldn’t get rid of. He figured if he cornered him at work he’d have to talk to him, he was too damned polite to do anything but.
"Is David in yet?" he asked Benton, as he seemed to be the keeper of David’s social calendar.
Benton regarded him with an arched brow and little patience. "He's not coming in."
Cook bristled slightly, he'd spent the better part of the morning building up the courage to talk to him and he's not even showing up? "His day off isn't until Saturday."
"He's sick," Benton frowned. "You need to talk to him about your schedule or something? His dad'll be in in an hour or so."
Cook shrugged and walked back out. Sick? He hadn't seemed sick. Was he playing hooky? Moping? It wasn't like him to just not work. Not that he was an expert or anything. Just, he thought he would get a chance to talk to him.
He considered thinking of it as a sign, giving up and moving on but that just didn’t sit right. If the mountain will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain.
But first, he had a couple stops to make.
*
By the time Cook got to the apartment door (which he had to call Benton to get the address to, and that was a bit of an awkward phone call if he’d ever had one before) he’d successfully rationed out the entire conversation he was about to have. He’d even brought fruit to soften the blow because he’d seen David’s unhealthy love affair with fresh fruit and if anything was going to take the sour taste of the truth out of his mouth he assumed it would be melon.
What he hadn’t been anticipating was the buzzer that would let him into David’s building. That was an obstacle that might be the end of him. He wasn’t above begging though, which he didn’t actually end up having to do as a kindly old lady opened the door for him just as David was asking him the perfectly valid question of what he was doing there.
He juggled the fruit in one hand and pounded on the door with the other. The last thing he needed was time to rethink what he was about to do. He had a mission, he had bullet points, and he was READY.
Except, then David answered the door. And he hadn't actually thought the guy was sick... but he was barely functioning at the moment so he had to reconsider that assessment. He'd intended to just tell him everything, had even gone through exactly what he was going to say but seeing David looking rumpled and exhausted made him second guess himself.
He watched him walk around the apartment and make odd small talk with barely any focus and something in his chest seemed to break a little. He'd spent the better part of their emails imagining Lechuga as a thousand different things. Shy and silly and a complete nerd, imagining the two of them talking the night away like some sort of romance movie... But the sight of him being human, sick and space headed and rightfully annoyed at the intrusion by an unwanted guest kind of made the other images feel small in comparison.
If he told David right now about the truth he knew without really having to think about it the next few steps. He would be angry, probably, like Cook had been the first night. Then he'd be sad, like Cook had been since then. But then he would probably figure out that he didn't want to ruin the memory of who he'd thought that Cook was as E.C. with the reality of who Cook really was and … yeah. He really didn’t want that to happen.
Instead of saying anything he sets to looking around the room. His eyes catch on a painting above a piano, something about the deep blues and pale greens in it reminding him of a conversation they’d had a few weeks before hand. He wondered if David had been looking at it while he typed, his eyes flicked around the room to look for a computer. It wasn’t like he could just ask about it without giving the whole game away though, so he looked back at where David was mournfully chewing on something.
When he caught Cook looking at him, he seemed to blush a little. (Maybe that was just the apparent fever?)
"I can't really taste anything? It sucks, and I'd rather save the fruit for when I can enjoy it, y'know?"
He’d been prepared for that. He swiped the bottle out of his pocket and stood hesitantly in front of David. When, after a half a second, a pair of eerily trusting brown eyes met his he got that weird feeling in his stomach like going over a bump too fast. The trust broke to concern fast enough that Cook could almost think he’d seen it wrong but it gave him an idea.
Maybe telling him wasn’t the best idea, but maybe if he tried hard enough he could get that trust back. And maybe the two of them could build from there. The idea was half formed at best but he knew how it ended. It ended with him being able to not just have Lechuga back. It ended with him getting something more.
He swallowed but forced a smile.
"Okay, this is going to be awkward."
Title: we’re everything but harmony (the ‘the words you heard before’ remix)
Rating: R for language
Warnings: none
Word Count: 2376
Summary: Cook takes the long way around to find what he really wants.
Original story: we’re everything but harmony by kimmay7
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the fictional versions of the persons portrayed here and the actual persons is purely coincidental. No infringement intended, and no profits made.
Notes: rajkumari905 saved me in a lot of ways. ♥
“Buckteeth?”
“No.”
“Excessive back hair?”
“How would I even-? No.”
“In a weird turn of fate he actually turned out to be a 15 year old girl?”
Cook covered his face with both hands. “How are we related?”
“Don’t worry, only by DNA,” Andrew deadpanned. When he forced himself to move his hands so he could properly glare, he found a familiar self-satisfied smile on his brother’s face. “Look, you’d think with how much you’ve talked about this guy you’d be able to get over his BO…?”
“No matter how hard you guess there is no way you’re going to get this, man.” David took a long pull to finish his third beer.
For a second Cook thought that might actually be the end of the conversation but his relief was temporary as Andrew opened his mouth. “Visible third nipple? An ex? Escaped convict? … Charlie Sheen?”
His head made an echoing thwack where it hit the kitchen table and his (thankfully empty) bottle of beer fell to its side and crashed onto the kitchen floor. He didn’t make a move to grab it; instead he talked into the crook of his arm. “It’s David.”
“Como?"
"It was David... Archuleta. My boss's son?"
"Prissy David you've been bitching about?"
Cook nodded his head, the idea sinking in just a little bit further into his sub conscience. "Yeah, that one."
His brother was dead silent for a solid minute before Cook realized he was shaking with laughter. Wasn't that just the frosting on the shit cupcake?
"And I'm reminded why I never tell you anything."
"Come on!" Andrew choked out through a few chuckles. "That's funny! The boy you've been bitching about is the boy you've been mooning after? That's something Shakespeare would come up with! Or like, Lifetime at least."
Cook pushed back from his seat, stood up and walked to the fridge for another beer. He turned in the direction of his room. "I'm going now."
"Wait!"
Against his better judgment he paused to look back. "What?"
"It's like that movie! The one with... fuck. The girl who fakes it?" Andrew had a shit-eating grin on his face and Cook rolled his eyes as he walked out before his brother figured it out and made him watch it or something.
*
from: you {eta.carinae82@gmail.com}
to: him {lechuga.14@gmail.com}
subject: re: why?
I was halfway there when I realized that I’d left something important at home. By the time I got back to the shop you must have gone home.
“Sure, make it sound like he was the one who fucked up,” Cook groaned and rubbed his face before he deleted the lame attempt at an explanation.
You know how small the world is? Pretty fucking small.
He could picture the sour look on David’s face at the curse word and his stomach churned. It wasn’t like he expected the guy to see the humor in the situation when the last thing it felt like was funny. He hit the erase key and stared at the blinking cursor for a solid minute.
I’m sorry.
He’d said it at the coffee shop but of course David didn’t know whom it had been coming from. It was something entirely stupid on his behalf, going in with his defenses up and expecting David not to reciprocate in kind. He hadn’t actually known how much David would bite back, or to what degree but it didn’t matter.
Cook had seen the hurt and fear in David’s eyes when he was barking out the insults. Knew that wherever he was, Lechuga-- David was beating himself up about the things he said. It made the guilt and hurt amplify in his chest.
He groaned and hit the “discard” button before he stood up and face planted onto his bed. He didn’t even bother to turn out the light before he fell asleep.
*
Cook wasn’t sure what he expected when he walked through the door the next afternoon. An annoyed David, at least. He got that every day, in some way or another. But David didn't seem annoyed, or even upset. He just looked tired. Maybe a little deflated and broken hearted, which caught Cook off guard enough that it made everything he did seem more complicated.
The third time he messed up a Gin and Tonic (how he screwed that up once was beyond him, let alone twice more) he had to force himself to stop staring at the other guy. It was a distraction and not one he needed. He hadn't had the job long enough to depend on his charms to get him by.
He wasn't surprised when that night, he came home to an empty email box. He checked every twenty minutes, just in case, but really what did he expect? David's last email had pretty much left it up to Cook to fix things.
so tell me why?
How was he expected to answer that?
Well, you aren't who I thought you were. Or I'm not who you thought I was. We don't like each other and really there isn't much to do about it. Because, well. If I tell you who I am you are going to turn tail and run. You don't want to know who I am.
The idea had been niggling at the back of his mind all day. The fact that maybe the fact that he was the one to find out before David did was a good thing. Because the guy he'd talked to over the last few weeks, the guy who was apparently David Archuleta, was the type to try and make things better at all cost. He would back track and apologize and even probably feel bad about the whole thing. None of that seemed even remotely appealing to Cook.
And when it came down to it, it always meant the same thing. He would lose Lechuga.
So maybe it was for the best for him to just let it happen as it did. Let the whole mess be over with. He and David could both just move on and David would never know who was behind the emails.
Cook could almost make himself believe that that would make things easier.
*
Cook hadn’t ever exactly gone out of his way to pay attention to the guy, but damned if it wasn't all he could do over the next few days. He knew, on some level, that he worked there and that he had always been around but it was like when he got a new car and all of a sudden all he saw was that car everywhere. He turned around and David was right there. Taking orders, greeting guests, talking to the other workers.
It was distracting and annoying and doing absolutely nothing for Cook’s personal quest to just move the hell on.
He thought it would be easier if he didn't tell David about the fact that they'd been chatting with each other for months completely unbeknownst to either of them but it really wasn't. He felt even more alone and frustrated most of the time and every time he caught the kind of crest fallen look on David’s face he had to stop himself from going over and ... well. He didn't even know. Hugging him? Telling him the truth? Emailing him under the counter just to see if it would get him to smile?
Each day when he got home from the bar his brother would drill him about the day, like that was helpful at all. Every day, without fail, he would do his best to act like the day had gone by quietly and without incident. He damned genetics and the fact that Andrew knew him better than anyone else because he could never get the lie to stick with his brother.
"Here's a thought," Andrew tapped his chin like he was really thinking it through. "You could just TELL him what’s going on, figure out all the drama and move the heck on? Your angst is actually transferring itself to me and cock-blocking me by default. Not cool, David. Not. Cool."
He dreamt of what it would be like if his parents had gotten a dog instead.
It pained him to admit that Andrew had a valid point. (Not about the cock-blocking, with the stupid moustache he was sporting he did that successfully for himself.) Each day seemed to pass a little slower then the day before and all the reasons he'd rationalized the first night seemed to fly out the window. He wasn't exactly sure it was a great idea, but he knew it was better than doing absolutely nothing at all.
*
He had the day off, but still he went in to work. He wasn’t sure what had him convinced that he needed to talk to David RIGHTTHATMINUTE but it was like a bur in his side that he couldn’t get rid of. He figured if he cornered him at work he’d have to talk to him, he was too damned polite to do anything but.
"Is David in yet?" he asked Benton, as he seemed to be the keeper of David’s social calendar.
Benton regarded him with an arched brow and little patience. "He's not coming in."
Cook bristled slightly, he'd spent the better part of the morning building up the courage to talk to him and he's not even showing up? "His day off isn't until Saturday."
"He's sick," Benton frowned. "You need to talk to him about your schedule or something? His dad'll be in in an hour or so."
Cook shrugged and walked back out. Sick? He hadn't seemed sick. Was he playing hooky? Moping? It wasn't like him to just not work. Not that he was an expert or anything. Just, he thought he would get a chance to talk to him.
He considered thinking of it as a sign, giving up and moving on but that just didn’t sit right. If the mountain will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain.
But first, he had a couple stops to make.
*
By the time Cook got to the apartment door (which he had to call Benton to get the address to, and that was a bit of an awkward phone call if he’d ever had one before) he’d successfully rationed out the entire conversation he was about to have. He’d even brought fruit to soften the blow because he’d seen David’s unhealthy love affair with fresh fruit and if anything was going to take the sour taste of the truth out of his mouth he assumed it would be melon.
What he hadn’t been anticipating was the buzzer that would let him into David’s building. That was an obstacle that might be the end of him. He wasn’t above begging though, which he didn’t actually end up having to do as a kindly old lady opened the door for him just as David was asking him the perfectly valid question of what he was doing there.
He juggled the fruit in one hand and pounded on the door with the other. The last thing he needed was time to rethink what he was about to do. He had a mission, he had bullet points, and he was READY.
Except, then David answered the door. And he hadn't actually thought the guy was sick... but he was barely functioning at the moment so he had to reconsider that assessment. He'd intended to just tell him everything, had even gone through exactly what he was going to say but seeing David looking rumpled and exhausted made him second guess himself.
He watched him walk around the apartment and make odd small talk with barely any focus and something in his chest seemed to break a little. He'd spent the better part of their emails imagining Lechuga as a thousand different things. Shy and silly and a complete nerd, imagining the two of them talking the night away like some sort of romance movie... But the sight of him being human, sick and space headed and rightfully annoyed at the intrusion by an unwanted guest kind of made the other images feel small in comparison.
If he told David right now about the truth he knew without really having to think about it the next few steps. He would be angry, probably, like Cook had been the first night. Then he'd be sad, like Cook had been since then. But then he would probably figure out that he didn't want to ruin the memory of who he'd thought that Cook was as E.C. with the reality of who Cook really was and … yeah. He really didn’t want that to happen.
Instead of saying anything he sets to looking around the room. His eyes catch on a painting above a piano, something about the deep blues and pale greens in it reminding him of a conversation they’d had a few weeks before hand. He wondered if David had been looking at it while he typed, his eyes flicked around the room to look for a computer. It wasn’t like he could just ask about it without giving the whole game away though, so he looked back at where David was mournfully chewing on something.
When he caught Cook looking at him, he seemed to blush a little. (Maybe that was just the apparent fever?)
"I can't really taste anything? It sucks, and I'd rather save the fruit for when I can enjoy it, y'know?"
He’d been prepared for that. He swiped the bottle out of his pocket and stood hesitantly in front of David. When, after a half a second, a pair of eerily trusting brown eyes met his he got that weird feeling in his stomach like going over a bump too fast. The trust broke to concern fast enough that Cook could almost think he’d seen it wrong but it gave him an idea.
Maybe telling him wasn’t the best idea, but maybe if he tried hard enough he could get that trust back. And maybe the two of them could build from there. The idea was half formed at best but he knew how it ended. It ended with him being able to not just have Lechuga back. It ended with him getting something more.
He swallowed but forced a smile.
"Okay, this is going to be awkward."