AI7 fic: Too Close to the Sun
Title: Too Close to the Sun
Author: philote_auctor
Fandom: RPF: American Idol 7
Characters/Pairing: David Cook & David Archuleta
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6500
Warnings: Sensitive subject matter. More specific warning behind the cut.
Summary: Time changes people, and David’s certainly changed. So is it possible that Cook could walk back into his life at a dark moment and still be exactly what he needs?
oOo
Warning: This kind of spoils the story, but for those who prefer to know what you're diving into, please highlight between the asterisks. *Attempted Suicide, off-screen and past tense but very much a focus*
Disclaimer: They’re not mine; I own no one. No harm is intended. No money changed hands.
1) Please note that this is purely fiction and none of the contents are real except for all or some of the characters used in this story;
2) Most characters used are based on real people but the details within do not purposely imply occurrences in real life; thus, anything here that concurs with real events may be completely coincidental;
3) This is created based solely on the imagination of the author and for non-profitable purpose.
oOo
He’s surprised when Cook shows up. The guy is in high demand, especially with the new album and all.
When he comments on it, Cook shrugs it off and gives him an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “I’ll always have time for you, Archie.”
No one’s called him ‘Archie’ in a while. His throat closes up a little, so he doesn’t point out that it’s been over three years since they spent any real time together. They’ve seen each other in passing, sure, and they kept up with the calls and text messages for a while. But their busy careers and different circles have effectively separated them since the end of the Idol tour.
But now, it’s like they were never apart. David’s maybe a little awkward at first, but Cook’s so easy-going and just so very Cook, exactly as he remembers. They slip naturally back into their old roles. Cook teases affectionately; David rolls his eyes at all the stupid jokes. They have long, uncomplicated conversations about nothing consequential. Cook always had a way of putting David at ease, of making him enjoy company when he thought all he wanted was to be left alone.
And it’s weird, that things are like normal with Cook. Because everyone else is weird with him now. And because nothing has been normal for a very long time.
oOo
“I’m thinking about moving to the mountains,” David announces. They’re sitting in the grass under a large oak, just hanging out. He sees the telltale flash of sunlight on a camera lens through the distant fence.
Cook is not even phased. He gives a jaunty wave in that direction before ignoring the intruders completely. “We talking Rockies or Alps?”
“Doesn’t matter. No place famous, though. No place tourists come. I need something totally isolated and hard to find.”
“Cool,” Cook says, as though David’s not talking like a bitter, antisocial paranoiac. “You’ll need a private landing strip, maybe a little plane hanger.”
“I don’t plan on traveling.”
“Not for you. So I can avoid trailing paparazzi when I come up.”
David casts him a sideways glance. “You never really seemed like an alone-in-the-middle-of-nowhere sort of guy.”
“I like the mountains. And quiet, every now and then.” Cook reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. “And I think it’s less about alone, and more about the right company.”
oOo
These visits are never scheduled ahead of time, which makes sense considering the demands of a rock star’s schedule. But Cook still shows up several times a week, apparently whenever he gets a bit of downtime.
Of course, while it is not as hectic, David has a schedule of his own. One day he emerges from a session to find that Cook’s been waiting for him nearly an hour. He’s lounging on one of the garden seats, sunglasses on and still enough that David’s pretty sure he’s asleep when he approaches. He stands there uncertainly for a bit before stepping closer and poking him softly in the shoulder. “Cook?”
The older man stirs and reaches to nudge the sunglasses up, a lazy grin spreading across his lips. “Hey, Archie.”
“You didn’t…um…I’m sorry you had to wait.” He feels a little guilty, but he won’t ask again if Cook maybe has something more important he should be doing.
“Hey, no worries. Gave me a chance to even out my tan.”
David looks him over doubtfully. He’s wearing jeans, boots, and a t-shirt. What can be seen of his skin is rather pale-probably too much time in a studio of late. “I think maybe you missed a spot.”
Cook laughs so hard that David’s a little concerned he may fall off the bench. He doesn’t think it was that funny, but he doesn’t really mind. Cook’s laugh has a musical tone that David really missed.
He stands there a little awkwardly until Cook recovers enough to stand. They set off on a leisurely walk around the courtyard, Cook’s arm looped companionably around David’s shoulders.
Cook’s still as overly affectionate as ever. David remembers how that freaked him out in the beginning, how he used to kind of cringe away from anyone’s touch. It was Cook who helped him get past that, pushing at the barriers around his comfort zone until they’d caved in.
Since then, David’s had to take it to a whole new level. He taught himself to tolerate anyone’s touch, to cope with grabby fans and tactile celebrities and managers and publicists and everyone else who liked to lay claim to him with everything from casual pats to deeply intimate touch. He had to take it all without flinching or looking uncomfortable. He’d reciprocate when prompted, but he never really initiated.
Somewhere along the line, he became sort of numb to it. It stopped meaning anything at all.
It’s been a long time since he relaxed into anyone’s touch, longer still since he craved it. But now here’s Cook, who still touches so easily, honest affection in his eyes. And it takes David back four years to when it was all new and surprisingly nice.
As they walk, he leans into Cook a little and at some point reaches up to latch onto the back of his shirt. He doesn’t realize he’s done it for a bit. When he does, he thinks it’s a little odd. Pretty unnecessary too, since Cook doesn’t seem overly eager to let him out of arm’s reach. But he doesn’t let go.
If Cook notices, he doesn’t react. He’s involved in a story about Michael Johns and some fight he had with his wife. Apparently Cook and Michael are still pretty close, because Michael came to stay with him for a week after Stacy kicked him out. It was during the heavy recording time for Cook’s band, and Michael had accompanied them to the studio on a few occasions. Cook uses his hands to emphasize, wrist hanging over David’s shoulder such that he nearly gets smacked in the face. “Turns out, Michael’s even more opinionated when his wife’s just told him he’s a moron. So he’s sitting there, offering comments every five seconds, suggesting the guitar solo needs some tweaking.” Cook laughs as he finishes wish, “I thought Neal was gonna go through the glass and take him out.”
David only met Neal once, briefly, but he fully believes that statement could be literal. He clears his throat, and does not say that. “It’s really sad though, isn’t it? About Michael and Stacy?”
Cook shrugs. “Not really.” David’s brow furrows in confusion, and Cook’s expression mirrors it for a moment before he gets it. “Oh-no, no; he went back after a week. She forgave him after an insane amount of groveling and a few gifts. She always does.”
“Always? They do this a lot?”
“That was the longest, but yeah. He usually shows up at least once a month.”
“That seems unhealthy.” And wow, that sounds more hypocritical than he thought it would. He really has no right to make that judgment. He feels his cheeks redden a little as he winces. “Sorry.”
“Why? You’re right. It’s part of why I’m not married and have no plans to be.”
David’s eyes cut left to focus on the hand that’s resting level with his chin. There are several rings on various fingers, but nothing that resembles a wedding or engagement ring. “What, no girlfriends?” he asks lightly.
“No one that’s thinking about marriage. Not to me, anyway.” He chuckles a little ruefully, his hand slipping back over David’s shoulder until the connection is reduced to fingertips brushing his spine.
And David recognizes this too, remembers it from when Cook used to back away from more mature topics in deference to David’s age and innocence. But he’s not a kid anymore, dangit. “Do married women throw their underwear on stage too, or do they wait for more private settings?” he asks conversationally.
Cook blinks, clearly a bit blindsided. He opens his mouth and shuts it once before deciding to roll with it. “You tell me, kiddo. As I recall, you had plenty of…ahem…older fans back in the day.”
“’Back in the day?’” David parrots incredulously. “I suppose I had Paula and Simon, on occasion. And maybe you.”
“Oh! Okay, insult though that was,” he pauses as they stop a few feet from the facility’s main door, taking a step away as he roughly musses David’s hair, “Yes. You definitely had me.”
David stands there and fidgets. He wants to step in for a hug. He won’t, but that’s okay. All it takes is a downward angled chin and a shy, quick cut of his eyes. Cook reads him easily, like guitar chords he knows by heart. He just reaches out and envelops him.
Cook’s hugs are kind of like a drug. David’s pretty sure he’s already addicted again. That growth spurt thing never really happened, so his head still fits perfectly on Cook’s shoulder. It’s a comfortable place to rest.
But there’s a fine like between taking comfort and giving up control. Because he’s carefully avoiding the latter, he has to disentangle himself before he’s really ready to.
“I should go,” he says softly, eyes automatically seeking the ground again. Cook reaches out and taps his chin gently. He doesn’t say anything, because David knows the gesture well enough. Chin up.
He knows it’s good advice, even if he has a hard time doing it. He lifts his eyes and smiles shyly.
“I’ll see you soon, okay?” David nods.
Cook never says goodbye.
oOo
There’s a girl in one of his groups, an amateur teenaged actress from a well-to-do Hollywood family. She’s kind of enamored with him. She’s cultured enough that she tries to act mature about it, but it’s still pretty obvious. It’s also obvious that she’s used to getting what she wants.
Cook clearly finds it amusing, though he tries to hide it. They spot her across the courtyard one afternoon with an older woman who’s probably her mother. David’s incredibly grateful to the visitor for keeping her from coming over. Still, she gives them a little wave, her eyes widening as she spots Cook. Cook, naturally, waves right back.
“Don’t encourage her,” David hisses, carefully keeping his gaze away.
“I’m kind of surprised,” Cook muses.
“What? That I don’t want to bond with a spoiled fifteen-year-old in a place like this?”
“No, that would concern me.” Cook tosses a blade of grass at him. “I’m surprised that she’s making you so uncomfortable. You’re used to attention now. Even had a serious girlfriend, as I recall.”
David knows where this is going. He doesn’t want to talk about it. “There were lots of girls,” he answers vaguely.
Cook’s grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Okay, pop star. Lots of girls. But before there were lots…”
David lets the loaded silence hang for several minutes. “Leala,” he finally concedes, barely a whisper. He stares blindly at the grass and clenches his jaw at the influx of memories. “I’d never met a Leala before. Pretty name. Ironically enough, it means ‘loyal.’” He gives a derisive snort. “They should have a name that means ‘vindictive.’”
Cook processes that with raised eyebrows. “Ouch.”
He immediately feels bad. “It wasn’t that bad, not really…”
“Archie.”
David studies the ground.
“Hey.” A finger taps his chin again. “Don’t back away from what you feel. You don’t need to censor yourself with me.”
David shifts uncomfortably and considers for a long moment before he speaks. “It’s just…she was a friend, in addition to being a girlfriend. Or I thought she was, anyway. I trusted her.”
“You want to tell me the real story?” When David looks at him in surprise, he shrugs. “You were never a good liar, Arch. You tried to tell the press you’d never even slept with her. That was true, wasn’t it?”
David stares at him. “No one believed me.”
“The people who knew you did.”
David shakes his head. “Not all of them,” he says softly.
“Well, I did.”
He’s a little speechless then. While he probably shouldn’t be surprised, it still takes him a few seconds to recover. “I’d been with her for several months. She’s the one who wanted to…” He flaps a hand in the air vaguely. “But I wasn’t in love with her, and…I didn’t think that was fair. For either of us. I’d never broken up with anyone before. It didn’t seem to go that badly. Of course, the next day she was practically holding a press conference.”
“Charming girl,” Cook comments grimly.
David’s lips tighten as he allows himself to brood a little. She’d almost immediately gone to the tabloids, insisting that he had dumped her after she’d finally given in to his pressure for sex. In truly vindictive fashion, even as she played the victim, she’d also heavily implied that he was less than adequate in bed.
“I’m good in bed,” David announces abruptly. It doesn’t occur to him to find it awkward until about three seconds too late.
“Okay,” Cook draws the word out, trying and failing to hide his amusement. “I heard that too, actually.”
Of course he has. The entire world has heard it. After the whole unfortunate incident with Leala, David certainly gathered enough people willing to attest to it. He feels his cheeks redden as he looks away.
“I tried to call a few times around then,” Cook comments.
“Really? They changed my cell number.”
“Your management got rather protective, too. I was told you weren’t taking any calls right then.”
“They were in crisis mode.” It was true that he hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone. Cook, though…he probably would have made an exception for Cook. “It they’d known what was coming, I’m sure they would have dumped me then.”
“If I hadn’t been in Europe…”
“Thanks, but it’s okay. It wasn’t that big a deal, right?” Belatedly, he realizes that shouldn’t have been a question.
Cook’s shaking his head. “It was for you.”
“Yeah, well. Maybe it was for the best, then. I was naïve, and stupid. I needed to learn.”
“Don’t.” Cook’s response is instant and so adamant that David flinches a little. “David, look at me.”
Reluctantly, he does. Cook’s gaze is intense.
“It’s hard enough for your average fast food worker or…or bartender to find someone he can trust. In our positions, it’s nearly impossible. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
David makes a little noise of disbelief. There’s plenty wrong with him, and they both know it.
Cook reluctantly concedes the point with a tilt of his head. “Not knowing who to trust is kind of a hazard of the job, but there’s nothing stupid about wanting relationships.”
“Maybe the job sucks,” David says softly.
“Maybe, sometimes. But you’re not alone.”
David watches him carefully before he ducks his head. “Thanks, Cook.”
Cook nods and settles back. After a long moment he adds casually, “By the way, nobody talks about my Archie that way. Don’t make me beat you up.”
David feels the ghost of a grin spread across his lips. “Like you could.”
He totally could right now, because David’s skin and bones and still physically recovering, and they both know it. But Cook just grins and pokes him in the side. David squirms away and loses his balance and almost-almost-laughs.
oOo
David perches on the edge of the chair, eyes mapping the intricate tile pattern in the floor. He absently tugs on the edges of the bandage, pulling out loose fibers. It’s his new nervous habit. The thing is just so convenient for fiddling.
His Dad is here.
He’s not a child anymore. He hasn’t lived with his father for a couple of years; he’s lived with his disapproval for even longer. And yet, he still feels like a little boy in his presence.
Usually, these visits are uncomfortable for both of them. Dad never seems to know what to say. It’s like he’s picked this incredibly inopportune time to be unsure of whether to treat David as an adult or a child. But today, he’s settled on a decision, and it’s all he can talk about. He and Mom have decided that when he gets out of here, they’re taking him home with them.
The idea isn’t sitting well with David. He considers speaking up, thinking about what Cook said about not censoring himself. But Cook isn’t here. And with everyone else, it’s just not that easy. So he sits quietly, nodding and mumbling when prompted.
Dad talks about his old room, and how they’ve prepared it for him again. “Everything will be ready when…when you’re ready.”
“Sure, Dad.” He tries to smile. He knows the expression falls far short.
His father hesitates, then places a hand behind David’s neck. He bends and presses a kiss to his forehead. It’s a nice gesture, but there’s an awkwardness to it.
David can do little but sit and try to keep the false smile from slipping.
oOo
Cook shows up for his next visit with guitar in hand, earning them a little audience of other visitors and patients. Cook casts him an apologetic look, and David knows that this wasn’t his intention.
He invites David to sing with him once, but takes his too-abrupt refusal graciously. Just as graciously, he extricates them after a couple of songs. Soon it’s just the two of them again. David’s mood doesn’t brighten, really, but he does start to relax.
He listens quietly to Cook’s playing for several long minutes before he says softly, “Dad wants me to come home.”
Cook pauses his strumming to glance over at him. “You don’t want to?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you want?”
“I really have no idea.”
Cook shifts the guitar to the side, full attention on David. “Okay, forget the future for a minute. What do you want right now?”
“Your company.” He blinks, thinks maybe that was too honest, and starts to blush.
But it’s almost worth the embarrassment for the full-fledged, affection-filled grin it earns him. “Well that one’s easy. You’ve got it.”
David clears his throat. “And maybe some ice cream.”
Cook laughs now, warm and bright like the sun. “I’ll see what I can do.”
oOo
“So. I hear you’ve acquired a pretty regular visitor.”
David’s attention snaps into focus on the woman seated across from him. He has sessions with Dr. Campbell every other day, quality time wherein she probes and coaxes and he answers by rote and evades when he can. He’s long since learned to let his mind wander just enough to give him an air of detachment.
He tries to shrug carelessly. He’s pretty sure it comes off as a slightly panicked jerk. “I guess so.”
She studies him over the rim of her glasses. “David Cook, right? I didn’t realize you two were so close.”
“We were. Are. I mean, we hadn’t seen each other in a while but…” he shrugs. “We are.”
“I remember there was a lot of press with the two of you, but as I’m sure you know, media portrayal can often be a bit different from reality.”
She’s trying to steer the conversation to places he doesn’t want to go. He might let Cook get away with it, but he’s drawing a line here. “It wasn’t with us. Cook was really like my big brother. He’s always looking out for me.” He launches into a story about Final Two week, which in turn leads to a couple of stories about the tour. Eventually, he realizes with some surprise that he’s babbling. He stutters a little and finally ends with, “He’s my best friend, I guess.”
She stopped taking notes at some point and is watching him with a small smile on her lips. “Clearly, you enjoy his visits.”
“You’re not going to say it’s bad for me, are you?” He’s pretty sure she would have the authority to bar a visitor.
“David, this is the most vocal and open you’ve been since you got here. I’m pretty sure I actually saw you smiling a moment ago. Whatever magic David Cook has, I hope he keeps using it.”
oOo
He’s not all that surprised when Cook shows up juggling a couple small tubs of ice cream and some plastic spoons. David accepts one with a shy smile, more pleased with Cook’s excitement about the offering than the ice cream itself.
He’s wrangling with the lid, trying to hold both it and the spoon when the sticky swirled substance drips onto his shirt. “Da¬-darn.” He catches himself at the last moment. Cook casts him an odd look. “Sorry. I’m trying not to swear.”
This provokes an even odder look. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” David answers a little defensively.
“Sorry, I just…I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard anything worse than ‘dang’ pass those lips.”
David ducks his head. “Yeah, well. You missed some stuff.”
oOo
David’s not quite sure how he ended up with the guitar.
He knows he didn’t ask for it outright. He was watching Cook play, mesmerized by the quick fingers and their deft, easy movements. He may have made some slightly wistful comment about wishing he’d taken the time to learn to play like that. The next thing he knew, Cook had slipped the strap off his neck and situated the instrument in David’s grip. He’d had little choice but to curl his fingers around it.
Now Cook has slipped behind him, reaching around to situate his fingers. And this is familiar, something they did a few times during the last few weeks of Idol.
“There you go.” Cook slides his hand away. As he does, his fingers brush over the bandage on his wrist. They both sort of freeze. David holds his breath.
The moment feels eternal. Finally, Cook clears his throat as he pulls away completely and moves back to face him. David feels his muscles clench as he curls slightly, into the guitar, bracing himself. He stares hard at the strings.
Cook hesitates long enough that he thinks he might get a reprieve. No such luck. “So…I don’t claim to be an expert on the healing process. But it’s been a little while now. They’re still making you wear the bandage?”
Probably, he doesn’t technically need it anymore. It’s more that they haven’t made him take it off. “It protects it,” he says simply, flatly, and it sounds plausible enough.
“Oh. Okay. Protection is good.” He pauses. “And, wow, that could be taken wrong.”
David rolls his eyes, but blushes right on cue. He ducks his head and Cook lets out a huff of laughter, reaching over to cup his cheek. “You’re so cute,” he says in a falsetto, a near-perfect imitation of several female reporters David’s encountered.
David bats at his hand. “Stop it,” he protests, less-than-effective for the smile playing his lips. He shifts his focus to the guitar and starts playing to distract them both.
Cook shifts closer again, giving him pointers and patiently guiding him. He’s produced some sheet music from the case, notes scribbled in pencil, and David bravely takes it on. “You need some practice, kid,” Cook teases with a grin.
“Maybe the music’s too hard to follow,” David returns in kind. Then he backtracks. “I mean…you wrote it, didn’t you? It’s not that I don’t like it, I do…”
Cook shakes his head as he chuckles. “You haven’t changed, Archie.”
It’s a casual remark, probably not something he intended to have deep meaning. But the tension from a moment earlier seeps through, and the statement hits David like a brick. “Yes I have.”
Cook sobers with his tone. He reaches over and taps a finger on David’s chest, over his heart. “Not where it counts.”
“How would you know?” He means the question to be petulant. It comes out kind of desperate.
“Because you’re worried about my feelings. You still have that sweet, caring heart; you still blush at everything. Hell, you even feel guilty badmouthing the girl who tore you apart. You’re still the sensitive, kind-hearted David Archuleta that America fell in love with.”
David shakes his head. His gut response is that that isn’t true. He lost that David Archuleta a long time ago. More recently, he’s become numb to his emotions in order to survive. Maybe that isn’t healthy, but it’s been working for him these past several months.
But now, he swallows painfully as he realizes that isn’t quite the case anymore. Not with Cook. And that’s kind of…terrifying, actually.
He says it anyway, trying to affect a careless tone. “I don’t feel much at all, really. I’m on some pretty good drugs.”
Cook eyes him, but doesn’t take the bait. He leans closer, drilling David with a serious stare. “I’m right, Archie, and you know it. Maybe you’ve tried to bury yourself in there. But I still see you.”
David suddenly feels claustrophobic despite the wide open space. His chest squeezes and it’s hard to breathe. He thrusts the guitar back towards Cook-carefully, because he was taught to respect instruments. Cook automatically reaches for it, despite the surprise on his face. As soon as Cook’s hands are on it David’s up and turning away.
“Archie?”
He makes a beeline for the main doors. He doesn’t look back.
“David!”
oOo
It’s been a week.
Since Cook first showed up, he’s never waited this long between visits. David’s holed up in his room, spending most of his time staring out the window. He can just see the main drive from here.
At first, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see Cook again. But he soon realized that while he is kind of terrified that Cook’s making him come alive again, it’s too late to turn off the emotion. And now he’s just miserable, more terrified of being alone again.
He gives up on the window and throws himself facedown on the bed, trying to catch some elusive sleep. All he succeeds in doing is staring at the wall for an indeterminable amount of time.
He’s finally drifting, half-asleep, when a knock on the door jerks him back to awareness. He looks up as a head pokes around the door. His visitor looks a little wary, but smiles hesitantly. “Hey.”
“Cook!” David nearly falls off the bed in his haste to get to the man. But once he’s righted himself he stops in his tracks, standing awkwardly.
Amusement is replacing the wariness. “Does this mean I can come in?”
“Gosh, yes. Please.”
Cook grins as he steps inside. He gets one arm about halfway up in David’s direction, and that’s all the invitation David can wait for. He lunges in and tucks himself close, resting his head under Cook’s chin.
He feels the vibration of Cook’s chest as he chuckles. “Guess you missed me too, huh?” He closes the embrace, rubbing David’s back gently. “I’m sorry, Arch.”
“It’s okay,” David whispers. ‘My fault,’ he thinks, but doesn’t say aloud.
Cook doesn’t release him until David finally steps back. He watches as the older man turns to close the door behind him. “How did you get up here?” he asks. “We’re not really supposed to have visitors in our rooms.”
Cook grins. “I’ve got skills. And, you know, an American Idol title.”
They take a seat on his bed. Cook tells him about his most recent photo shoot, rolling his eyes as he talks about the make-up artist and her obsession with trying new looks on him.
David eyes Cook’s hair, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead he sympathizes, “She didn’t do anything permanent, I hope.”
Cook’s eyes brighten. “Ooh, that reminds me! I haven’t shown you my new tattoo, have I?”
David’s eyebrows go up. “No…” he replies hesitantly. He’s kind of afraid to see where a guy who had an eye inked on his inner wrist would go next. But Cook’s already sitting up and peeling his t-shirt over his head, so David just sort of sits quietly. Maybe it should be weird, but Cook was never exactly shy.
It’s between his shoulder blades. It’s fairly small and all black ink, and David has to scoot closer and squint to identify the intricate little figure and the wings unfurling around it. “It’s an angel?” He makes it a question not because he can’t identify it, but because he wonders about the reasoning behind it. He knows Cook wouldn’t get something without deep meaning to him.
Cook shrugs, suddenly seeming a little self-conscious as he slips the shirt back on. “It’s watching over me, I guess.”
“It’s nice,” David assures. “Better than the last one,” he adds under his breath, eyes drawn to the creepy eye staring at him from Cook’s wrist.
“What was that?”
David blinks innocently. “Nothing? Um…it kind of goes with a theme, I guess. Except the last one’s not so much watching over as just…watching.” He’s babbling now, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “Not that it’s not cool? I’m sure no one interprets it as an issue with voyeurism or anything.”
“Archuleta!” Cook exclaims indignantly. It’s kind of ruined by his laughter. David reads the look in his eyes and yelps, trying to scramble away. He’s not quick enough. Cook grabs him, one arm around his chest to tug him close. The other hand finds its way to his belly, tickling mercilessly. David laughs and squirms out of reflex, not really wanting to get away. “Cook,” he complains breathlessly between giggles.
The sound of the door clicking open and high heels tapping the floor breaks through the laughter. Cook’s hand stills as they both look around at the woman now standing in his doorway with her eyebrows raised.
“Doctor Campbell,” David mutters in greeting. He’s still trying to calm his giggles and can’t quite wipe the smile off his face. All he can think is that he’s glad she didn’t show up about five minutes earlier when Cook had his shirt off. That might have been even more awkward. “David Cook, this is my…Doctor Campbell.”
Cook releases him with a squeeze to his shoulders, standing to offer his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Call me Sarah,” she says with a smile, and David resists the urge to roll his eyes. He’d almost forgotten the effect Cook could have on women.
Cook gives her a charming grin. “Sarah. Is it all right that I’m in here?”
“Well, normally it would be against the rules, but…” her gaze drifts to David, evaluating, and he knows she heard him laughing. “I think we can make an exception.”
oOo
“You still set on that house in the mountains?”
David shrugs, a little discomfited by the topic. Lately, truth be told, he hasn’t put a lot of thought to getting out of here. “I don’t know.”
“Well, if you decide to consider more local options, I’ve got plenty of extra space at my place.”
David’s hands still and he stares. “I…I don’t understand.”
Cook’s lips quirk gently. “That’s generally referred to as an invitation.”
“Like…for a weekend, or…”
“Like for as long as you want, Arch.”
He hesitates, still surprised. This is a lot more than a commitment to visit, and he wonders if Cook’s really thought it through. He doesn’t want to be a burden. “You don’t have to.”
Cook’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I know. But I am.”
“You’ve already done so much.”
“Like what? Bringing the ice cream?”
“It was really good ice cream,” David says lamely.
“Hey. No pressure. It’s totally cool if you have other plans. I’m just offering the option, if you want.”
He promises to think about it.
oOo
One afternoon, he asks Cook if he’s heard anything from any of the others apart from Michael. He talks about Kristy Lee, who’s recording a new album in Nashville, and Syesha’s new part in an off-Broadway show. They laugh about Carly’s comments about the nightclub job she’s holding down whilst trying to record. Then, they talk about Brooke.
Brooke’s had a hard time of it in terms of the music world. She’d finally found a label and was in negotiations, but they wanted a lot of compromises from her. Still, David’s shocked when Cook says that she gave up the contract. “She and her husband want to start a family. So she’s decided to sit out for a while, concentrate on more important stuff.”
“She’s giving up on music?” His voice breaks a little on the last word.
Cook looks over at him, concerned. “More like taking a break, I think.”
Abruptly, David feels tears gathering in his eyes. He sniffles, his breathing grows erratic as he swipes at them. And jeez, after all this time, this is kind of an irrelevant thing to have a breakdown over.
Cook appears to have a little moment of confused panic. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. She seemed really happy about the decision, actually…”
Then something clicks and he seems to get it, which makes him kind of brilliant, because even David doesn’t understand yet. But Cook’s expression softens and there’s understanding in his eyes as he places a hand softly on David’s shoulder.
David tries to make sense of his reaction, trying to distract himself. He loves Brooke, in a big sister sort of way, so it’s natural that he should be sad for her. But that’s not enough to make him cry. She loves music, but it isn’t fulfilling her needs right now. She won’t give herself up for it. So, it’s not giving up music so much as she’s taking control of it.
Control.
It hits like a punch in the stomach. Brooke’s sacrificing this dream they all love, and he envies her.
He tries to keep a lid on the emotion, tries to hold in his tears. But after so long, it’s overwhelming.
“You don’t have to do that.” Cook’s hand is still on his shoulder, thumb rubbing back and forth. David looks over at him. Cook doesn’t reach for him beyond that, doesn’t force him into an embrace. He’s just making an offer. “Its okay, David.”
The gentle understanding is too much. With a helpless whimper, he gives in to the emotion and moves. And then he’s practically in Cook’s lap, which is possibly a little presumptuous based on one gentle touch to the shoulder. But Cook pulls him closer still, shifting him to a more comfortable position.
Cook’s murmuring in his ear, the timbre of his voice low and soothing. It’s a long time before David calms enough to make out the words.
“I’ve got you, Archie. I won’t let you go.”
oOo
Apparently, there’s something to be said for emotional breakdowns.
After that day with Cook, it’s like the floodgates are open. Sometimes, he can’t stop crying. But he starts talking, too. Dr. Campbell takes the change in stride, but he can tell she’s pleased with his progress now.
But there’s still one question David dreads, one he’s never really answered outright. It happens to be one thing Cook has never asked.
Without preamble, he makes the offer. “You can ask me, if you want.”
Cook looks over at him. He has no way of knowing what David’s talking about, but he doesn’t let that stop him. “Okay. Archie…do you really hate the tattoo?”
David blinks at him. Cook flicks his wrist helpfully. He seems serious enough, but there’s a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “It’s important to you…” David starts, uncertain. “I like the angel?”
“That’s not what I asked.”
David knows he’s being teased. He gives in with a huff. “Fine. I could write a song about that thing, okay? I’d have to call it, like, ‘Fear and Loathing in the Cyclops’ Cave’ or something.”
Then Cook’s laughing so hysterically he probably can’t breathe, hanging onto David to keep from toppling over head-first. David rolls his eyes, but he can’t help smiling along with him.
“Fair enough,” Cook concedes, wiping at his eyes. “Okay, what did you really want me to ask?”
David hesitates, sobering quickly. But he soldiers on. “Why I did it. It’s the first thing everyone else wanted to know.”
“I figured you’d tell me, if you wanted. When you were ready.”
“I…” David swallows hard. His instinct is still to make excuses, to fumble his way through an ‘I don’t know.’ But that isn’t why he brought it up.
There were so many contributing factors; they’ve discussed some of them. But how they all piled up, how he mentally went to that place of no return, the emotions there…he still doesn’t even want to think about them. But the question deserves an honest answer. David needs to give it an honest answer.
“I know I’m sick,” he begins hesitantly. “I know well people don’t see suicide as a viable option.” And…wow. He’s heard the word batted around about a million times, but he’s never actually said it. He has to pause for a few deep breaths before he continues. “I think that’s why it’s so hard to explain to people who’ve never been there.”
He takes a few more silent minutes to think, during which Cook waits patiently. Finally he adds, “There were a lot of things that happened, some you know and some…” Some that he’s still not ready to talk about. He swallows and moves on. “Half the time nothing was even about the music, the other half I felt like I was compromising it. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, you know…” He pauses again. “I was just so tired. I felt trapped, and lost. Which sounds like a contradiction, I know, but…I was losing myself. And I didn’t know how to stop it.”
Cook studies him for a long time. David can’t meet his eyes, but he can feel the solemn gaze. A hand comes to rest on his head, more a caress than anything. “Are you found yet?”
He looks up, and can’t help but remember the feel of strong arms around him, holding him together while he fell apart. The corners of his lips turn up ever-so-slightly. “I think maybe I’m getting there.”
oOo
Author's Notes: This thing has kind of been a labor of love. I started it months ago, then abandoned it, then picked it up, then abandoned it again. At some point I started jotting down ideas for a sequel. I got kind of excited about that, so it forced me to finish this one! I know the topic is a difficult one; I suppose I'm a little anxious to see how it will be received.
Thank you for reading!
Author: philote_auctor
Fandom: RPF: American Idol 7
Characters/Pairing: David Cook & David Archuleta
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6500
Warnings: Sensitive subject matter. More specific warning behind the cut.
Summary: Time changes people, and David’s certainly changed. So is it possible that Cook could walk back into his life at a dark moment and still be exactly what he needs?
oOo
Warning: This kind of spoils the story, but for those who prefer to know what you're diving into, please highlight between the asterisks. *Attempted Suicide, off-screen and past tense but very much a focus*
Disclaimer: They’re not mine; I own no one. No harm is intended. No money changed hands.
1) Please note that this is purely fiction and none of the contents are real except for all or some of the characters used in this story;
2) Most characters used are based on real people but the details within do not purposely imply occurrences in real life; thus, anything here that concurs with real events may be completely coincidental;
3) This is created based solely on the imagination of the author and for non-profitable purpose.
oOo
He’s surprised when Cook shows up. The guy is in high demand, especially with the new album and all.
When he comments on it, Cook shrugs it off and gives him an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “I’ll always have time for you, Archie.”
No one’s called him ‘Archie’ in a while. His throat closes up a little, so he doesn’t point out that it’s been over three years since they spent any real time together. They’ve seen each other in passing, sure, and they kept up with the calls and text messages for a while. But their busy careers and different circles have effectively separated them since the end of the Idol tour.
But now, it’s like they were never apart. David’s maybe a little awkward at first, but Cook’s so easy-going and just so very Cook, exactly as he remembers. They slip naturally back into their old roles. Cook teases affectionately; David rolls his eyes at all the stupid jokes. They have long, uncomplicated conversations about nothing consequential. Cook always had a way of putting David at ease, of making him enjoy company when he thought all he wanted was to be left alone.
And it’s weird, that things are like normal with Cook. Because everyone else is weird with him now. And because nothing has been normal for a very long time.
oOo
“I’m thinking about moving to the mountains,” David announces. They’re sitting in the grass under a large oak, just hanging out. He sees the telltale flash of sunlight on a camera lens through the distant fence.
Cook is not even phased. He gives a jaunty wave in that direction before ignoring the intruders completely. “We talking Rockies or Alps?”
“Doesn’t matter. No place famous, though. No place tourists come. I need something totally isolated and hard to find.”
“Cool,” Cook says, as though David’s not talking like a bitter, antisocial paranoiac. “You’ll need a private landing strip, maybe a little plane hanger.”
“I don’t plan on traveling.”
“Not for you. So I can avoid trailing paparazzi when I come up.”
David casts him a sideways glance. “You never really seemed like an alone-in-the-middle-of-nowhere sort of guy.”
“I like the mountains. And quiet, every now and then.” Cook reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. “And I think it’s less about alone, and more about the right company.”
oOo
These visits are never scheduled ahead of time, which makes sense considering the demands of a rock star’s schedule. But Cook still shows up several times a week, apparently whenever he gets a bit of downtime.
Of course, while it is not as hectic, David has a schedule of his own. One day he emerges from a session to find that Cook’s been waiting for him nearly an hour. He’s lounging on one of the garden seats, sunglasses on and still enough that David’s pretty sure he’s asleep when he approaches. He stands there uncertainly for a bit before stepping closer and poking him softly in the shoulder. “Cook?”
The older man stirs and reaches to nudge the sunglasses up, a lazy grin spreading across his lips. “Hey, Archie.”
“You didn’t…um…I’m sorry you had to wait.” He feels a little guilty, but he won’t ask again if Cook maybe has something more important he should be doing.
“Hey, no worries. Gave me a chance to even out my tan.”
David looks him over doubtfully. He’s wearing jeans, boots, and a t-shirt. What can be seen of his skin is rather pale-probably too much time in a studio of late. “I think maybe you missed a spot.”
Cook laughs so hard that David’s a little concerned he may fall off the bench. He doesn’t think it was that funny, but he doesn’t really mind. Cook’s laugh has a musical tone that David really missed.
He stands there a little awkwardly until Cook recovers enough to stand. They set off on a leisurely walk around the courtyard, Cook’s arm looped companionably around David’s shoulders.
Cook’s still as overly affectionate as ever. David remembers how that freaked him out in the beginning, how he used to kind of cringe away from anyone’s touch. It was Cook who helped him get past that, pushing at the barriers around his comfort zone until they’d caved in.
Since then, David’s had to take it to a whole new level. He taught himself to tolerate anyone’s touch, to cope with grabby fans and tactile celebrities and managers and publicists and everyone else who liked to lay claim to him with everything from casual pats to deeply intimate touch. He had to take it all without flinching or looking uncomfortable. He’d reciprocate when prompted, but he never really initiated.
Somewhere along the line, he became sort of numb to it. It stopped meaning anything at all.
It’s been a long time since he relaxed into anyone’s touch, longer still since he craved it. But now here’s Cook, who still touches so easily, honest affection in his eyes. And it takes David back four years to when it was all new and surprisingly nice.
As they walk, he leans into Cook a little and at some point reaches up to latch onto the back of his shirt. He doesn’t realize he’s done it for a bit. When he does, he thinks it’s a little odd. Pretty unnecessary too, since Cook doesn’t seem overly eager to let him out of arm’s reach. But he doesn’t let go.
If Cook notices, he doesn’t react. He’s involved in a story about Michael Johns and some fight he had with his wife. Apparently Cook and Michael are still pretty close, because Michael came to stay with him for a week after Stacy kicked him out. It was during the heavy recording time for Cook’s band, and Michael had accompanied them to the studio on a few occasions. Cook uses his hands to emphasize, wrist hanging over David’s shoulder such that he nearly gets smacked in the face. “Turns out, Michael’s even more opinionated when his wife’s just told him he’s a moron. So he’s sitting there, offering comments every five seconds, suggesting the guitar solo needs some tweaking.” Cook laughs as he finishes wish, “I thought Neal was gonna go through the glass and take him out.”
David only met Neal once, briefly, but he fully believes that statement could be literal. He clears his throat, and does not say that. “It’s really sad though, isn’t it? About Michael and Stacy?”
Cook shrugs. “Not really.” David’s brow furrows in confusion, and Cook’s expression mirrors it for a moment before he gets it. “Oh-no, no; he went back after a week. She forgave him after an insane amount of groveling and a few gifts. She always does.”
“Always? They do this a lot?”
“That was the longest, but yeah. He usually shows up at least once a month.”
“That seems unhealthy.” And wow, that sounds more hypocritical than he thought it would. He really has no right to make that judgment. He feels his cheeks redden a little as he winces. “Sorry.”
“Why? You’re right. It’s part of why I’m not married and have no plans to be.”
David’s eyes cut left to focus on the hand that’s resting level with his chin. There are several rings on various fingers, but nothing that resembles a wedding or engagement ring. “What, no girlfriends?” he asks lightly.
“No one that’s thinking about marriage. Not to me, anyway.” He chuckles a little ruefully, his hand slipping back over David’s shoulder until the connection is reduced to fingertips brushing his spine.
And David recognizes this too, remembers it from when Cook used to back away from more mature topics in deference to David’s age and innocence. But he’s not a kid anymore, dangit. “Do married women throw their underwear on stage too, or do they wait for more private settings?” he asks conversationally.
Cook blinks, clearly a bit blindsided. He opens his mouth and shuts it once before deciding to roll with it. “You tell me, kiddo. As I recall, you had plenty of…ahem…older fans back in the day.”
“’Back in the day?’” David parrots incredulously. “I suppose I had Paula and Simon, on occasion. And maybe you.”
“Oh! Okay, insult though that was,” he pauses as they stop a few feet from the facility’s main door, taking a step away as he roughly musses David’s hair, “Yes. You definitely had me.”
David stands there and fidgets. He wants to step in for a hug. He won’t, but that’s okay. All it takes is a downward angled chin and a shy, quick cut of his eyes. Cook reads him easily, like guitar chords he knows by heart. He just reaches out and envelops him.
Cook’s hugs are kind of like a drug. David’s pretty sure he’s already addicted again. That growth spurt thing never really happened, so his head still fits perfectly on Cook’s shoulder. It’s a comfortable place to rest.
But there’s a fine like between taking comfort and giving up control. Because he’s carefully avoiding the latter, he has to disentangle himself before he’s really ready to.
“I should go,” he says softly, eyes automatically seeking the ground again. Cook reaches out and taps his chin gently. He doesn’t say anything, because David knows the gesture well enough. Chin up.
He knows it’s good advice, even if he has a hard time doing it. He lifts his eyes and smiles shyly.
“I’ll see you soon, okay?” David nods.
Cook never says goodbye.
oOo
There’s a girl in one of his groups, an amateur teenaged actress from a well-to-do Hollywood family. She’s kind of enamored with him. She’s cultured enough that she tries to act mature about it, but it’s still pretty obvious. It’s also obvious that she’s used to getting what she wants.
Cook clearly finds it amusing, though he tries to hide it. They spot her across the courtyard one afternoon with an older woman who’s probably her mother. David’s incredibly grateful to the visitor for keeping her from coming over. Still, she gives them a little wave, her eyes widening as she spots Cook. Cook, naturally, waves right back.
“Don’t encourage her,” David hisses, carefully keeping his gaze away.
“I’m kind of surprised,” Cook muses.
“What? That I don’t want to bond with a spoiled fifteen-year-old in a place like this?”
“No, that would concern me.” Cook tosses a blade of grass at him. “I’m surprised that she’s making you so uncomfortable. You’re used to attention now. Even had a serious girlfriend, as I recall.”
David knows where this is going. He doesn’t want to talk about it. “There were lots of girls,” he answers vaguely.
Cook’s grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Okay, pop star. Lots of girls. But before there were lots…”
David lets the loaded silence hang for several minutes. “Leala,” he finally concedes, barely a whisper. He stares blindly at the grass and clenches his jaw at the influx of memories. “I’d never met a Leala before. Pretty name. Ironically enough, it means ‘loyal.’” He gives a derisive snort. “They should have a name that means ‘vindictive.’”
Cook processes that with raised eyebrows. “Ouch.”
He immediately feels bad. “It wasn’t that bad, not really…”
“Archie.”
David studies the ground.
“Hey.” A finger taps his chin again. “Don’t back away from what you feel. You don’t need to censor yourself with me.”
David shifts uncomfortably and considers for a long moment before he speaks. “It’s just…she was a friend, in addition to being a girlfriend. Or I thought she was, anyway. I trusted her.”
“You want to tell me the real story?” When David looks at him in surprise, he shrugs. “You were never a good liar, Arch. You tried to tell the press you’d never even slept with her. That was true, wasn’t it?”
David stares at him. “No one believed me.”
“The people who knew you did.”
David shakes his head. “Not all of them,” he says softly.
“Well, I did.”
He’s a little speechless then. While he probably shouldn’t be surprised, it still takes him a few seconds to recover. “I’d been with her for several months. She’s the one who wanted to…” He flaps a hand in the air vaguely. “But I wasn’t in love with her, and…I didn’t think that was fair. For either of us. I’d never broken up with anyone before. It didn’t seem to go that badly. Of course, the next day she was practically holding a press conference.”
“Charming girl,” Cook comments grimly.
David’s lips tighten as he allows himself to brood a little. She’d almost immediately gone to the tabloids, insisting that he had dumped her after she’d finally given in to his pressure for sex. In truly vindictive fashion, even as she played the victim, she’d also heavily implied that he was less than adequate in bed.
“I’m good in bed,” David announces abruptly. It doesn’t occur to him to find it awkward until about three seconds too late.
“Okay,” Cook draws the word out, trying and failing to hide his amusement. “I heard that too, actually.”
Of course he has. The entire world has heard it. After the whole unfortunate incident with Leala, David certainly gathered enough people willing to attest to it. He feels his cheeks redden as he looks away.
“I tried to call a few times around then,” Cook comments.
“Really? They changed my cell number.”
“Your management got rather protective, too. I was told you weren’t taking any calls right then.”
“They were in crisis mode.” It was true that he hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone. Cook, though…he probably would have made an exception for Cook. “It they’d known what was coming, I’m sure they would have dumped me then.”
“If I hadn’t been in Europe…”
“Thanks, but it’s okay. It wasn’t that big a deal, right?” Belatedly, he realizes that shouldn’t have been a question.
Cook’s shaking his head. “It was for you.”
“Yeah, well. Maybe it was for the best, then. I was naïve, and stupid. I needed to learn.”
“Don’t.” Cook’s response is instant and so adamant that David flinches a little. “David, look at me.”
Reluctantly, he does. Cook’s gaze is intense.
“It’s hard enough for your average fast food worker or…or bartender to find someone he can trust. In our positions, it’s nearly impossible. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
David makes a little noise of disbelief. There’s plenty wrong with him, and they both know it.
Cook reluctantly concedes the point with a tilt of his head. “Not knowing who to trust is kind of a hazard of the job, but there’s nothing stupid about wanting relationships.”
“Maybe the job sucks,” David says softly.
“Maybe, sometimes. But you’re not alone.”
David watches him carefully before he ducks his head. “Thanks, Cook.”
Cook nods and settles back. After a long moment he adds casually, “By the way, nobody talks about my Archie that way. Don’t make me beat you up.”
David feels the ghost of a grin spread across his lips. “Like you could.”
He totally could right now, because David’s skin and bones and still physically recovering, and they both know it. But Cook just grins and pokes him in the side. David squirms away and loses his balance and almost-almost-laughs.
oOo
David perches on the edge of the chair, eyes mapping the intricate tile pattern in the floor. He absently tugs on the edges of the bandage, pulling out loose fibers. It’s his new nervous habit. The thing is just so convenient for fiddling.
His Dad is here.
He’s not a child anymore. He hasn’t lived with his father for a couple of years; he’s lived with his disapproval for even longer. And yet, he still feels like a little boy in his presence.
Usually, these visits are uncomfortable for both of them. Dad never seems to know what to say. It’s like he’s picked this incredibly inopportune time to be unsure of whether to treat David as an adult or a child. But today, he’s settled on a decision, and it’s all he can talk about. He and Mom have decided that when he gets out of here, they’re taking him home with them.
The idea isn’t sitting well with David. He considers speaking up, thinking about what Cook said about not censoring himself. But Cook isn’t here. And with everyone else, it’s just not that easy. So he sits quietly, nodding and mumbling when prompted.
Dad talks about his old room, and how they’ve prepared it for him again. “Everything will be ready when…when you’re ready.”
“Sure, Dad.” He tries to smile. He knows the expression falls far short.
His father hesitates, then places a hand behind David’s neck. He bends and presses a kiss to his forehead. It’s a nice gesture, but there’s an awkwardness to it.
David can do little but sit and try to keep the false smile from slipping.
oOo
Cook shows up for his next visit with guitar in hand, earning them a little audience of other visitors and patients. Cook casts him an apologetic look, and David knows that this wasn’t his intention.
He invites David to sing with him once, but takes his too-abrupt refusal graciously. Just as graciously, he extricates them after a couple of songs. Soon it’s just the two of them again. David’s mood doesn’t brighten, really, but he does start to relax.
He listens quietly to Cook’s playing for several long minutes before he says softly, “Dad wants me to come home.”
Cook pauses his strumming to glance over at him. “You don’t want to?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you want?”
“I really have no idea.”
Cook shifts the guitar to the side, full attention on David. “Okay, forget the future for a minute. What do you want right now?”
“Your company.” He blinks, thinks maybe that was too honest, and starts to blush.
But it’s almost worth the embarrassment for the full-fledged, affection-filled grin it earns him. “Well that one’s easy. You’ve got it.”
David clears his throat. “And maybe some ice cream.”
Cook laughs now, warm and bright like the sun. “I’ll see what I can do.”
oOo
“So. I hear you’ve acquired a pretty regular visitor.”
David’s attention snaps into focus on the woman seated across from him. He has sessions with Dr. Campbell every other day, quality time wherein she probes and coaxes and he answers by rote and evades when he can. He’s long since learned to let his mind wander just enough to give him an air of detachment.
He tries to shrug carelessly. He’s pretty sure it comes off as a slightly panicked jerk. “I guess so.”
She studies him over the rim of her glasses. “David Cook, right? I didn’t realize you two were so close.”
“We were. Are. I mean, we hadn’t seen each other in a while but…” he shrugs. “We are.”
“I remember there was a lot of press with the two of you, but as I’m sure you know, media portrayal can often be a bit different from reality.”
She’s trying to steer the conversation to places he doesn’t want to go. He might let Cook get away with it, but he’s drawing a line here. “It wasn’t with us. Cook was really like my big brother. He’s always looking out for me.” He launches into a story about Final Two week, which in turn leads to a couple of stories about the tour. Eventually, he realizes with some surprise that he’s babbling. He stutters a little and finally ends with, “He’s my best friend, I guess.”
She stopped taking notes at some point and is watching him with a small smile on her lips. “Clearly, you enjoy his visits.”
“You’re not going to say it’s bad for me, are you?” He’s pretty sure she would have the authority to bar a visitor.
“David, this is the most vocal and open you’ve been since you got here. I’m pretty sure I actually saw you smiling a moment ago. Whatever magic David Cook has, I hope he keeps using it.”
oOo
He’s not all that surprised when Cook shows up juggling a couple small tubs of ice cream and some plastic spoons. David accepts one with a shy smile, more pleased with Cook’s excitement about the offering than the ice cream itself.
He’s wrangling with the lid, trying to hold both it and the spoon when the sticky swirled substance drips onto his shirt. “Da¬-darn.” He catches himself at the last moment. Cook casts him an odd look. “Sorry. I’m trying not to swear.”
This provokes an even odder look. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” David answers a little defensively.
“Sorry, I just…I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard anything worse than ‘dang’ pass those lips.”
David ducks his head. “Yeah, well. You missed some stuff.”
oOo
David’s not quite sure how he ended up with the guitar.
He knows he didn’t ask for it outright. He was watching Cook play, mesmerized by the quick fingers and their deft, easy movements. He may have made some slightly wistful comment about wishing he’d taken the time to learn to play like that. The next thing he knew, Cook had slipped the strap off his neck and situated the instrument in David’s grip. He’d had little choice but to curl his fingers around it.
Now Cook has slipped behind him, reaching around to situate his fingers. And this is familiar, something they did a few times during the last few weeks of Idol.
“There you go.” Cook slides his hand away. As he does, his fingers brush over the bandage on his wrist. They both sort of freeze. David holds his breath.
The moment feels eternal. Finally, Cook clears his throat as he pulls away completely and moves back to face him. David feels his muscles clench as he curls slightly, into the guitar, bracing himself. He stares hard at the strings.
Cook hesitates long enough that he thinks he might get a reprieve. No such luck. “So…I don’t claim to be an expert on the healing process. But it’s been a little while now. They’re still making you wear the bandage?”
Probably, he doesn’t technically need it anymore. It’s more that they haven’t made him take it off. “It protects it,” he says simply, flatly, and it sounds plausible enough.
“Oh. Okay. Protection is good.” He pauses. “And, wow, that could be taken wrong.”
David rolls his eyes, but blushes right on cue. He ducks his head and Cook lets out a huff of laughter, reaching over to cup his cheek. “You’re so cute,” he says in a falsetto, a near-perfect imitation of several female reporters David’s encountered.
David bats at his hand. “Stop it,” he protests, less-than-effective for the smile playing his lips. He shifts his focus to the guitar and starts playing to distract them both.
Cook shifts closer again, giving him pointers and patiently guiding him. He’s produced some sheet music from the case, notes scribbled in pencil, and David bravely takes it on. “You need some practice, kid,” Cook teases with a grin.
“Maybe the music’s too hard to follow,” David returns in kind. Then he backtracks. “I mean…you wrote it, didn’t you? It’s not that I don’t like it, I do…”
Cook shakes his head as he chuckles. “You haven’t changed, Archie.”
It’s a casual remark, probably not something he intended to have deep meaning. But the tension from a moment earlier seeps through, and the statement hits David like a brick. “Yes I have.”
Cook sobers with his tone. He reaches over and taps a finger on David’s chest, over his heart. “Not where it counts.”
“How would you know?” He means the question to be petulant. It comes out kind of desperate.
“Because you’re worried about my feelings. You still have that sweet, caring heart; you still blush at everything. Hell, you even feel guilty badmouthing the girl who tore you apart. You’re still the sensitive, kind-hearted David Archuleta that America fell in love with.”
David shakes his head. His gut response is that that isn’t true. He lost that David Archuleta a long time ago. More recently, he’s become numb to his emotions in order to survive. Maybe that isn’t healthy, but it’s been working for him these past several months.
But now, he swallows painfully as he realizes that isn’t quite the case anymore. Not with Cook. And that’s kind of…terrifying, actually.
He says it anyway, trying to affect a careless tone. “I don’t feel much at all, really. I’m on some pretty good drugs.”
Cook eyes him, but doesn’t take the bait. He leans closer, drilling David with a serious stare. “I’m right, Archie, and you know it. Maybe you’ve tried to bury yourself in there. But I still see you.”
David suddenly feels claustrophobic despite the wide open space. His chest squeezes and it’s hard to breathe. He thrusts the guitar back towards Cook-carefully, because he was taught to respect instruments. Cook automatically reaches for it, despite the surprise on his face. As soon as Cook’s hands are on it David’s up and turning away.
“Archie?”
He makes a beeline for the main doors. He doesn’t look back.
“David!”
oOo
It’s been a week.
Since Cook first showed up, he’s never waited this long between visits. David’s holed up in his room, spending most of his time staring out the window. He can just see the main drive from here.
At first, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see Cook again. But he soon realized that while he is kind of terrified that Cook’s making him come alive again, it’s too late to turn off the emotion. And now he’s just miserable, more terrified of being alone again.
He gives up on the window and throws himself facedown on the bed, trying to catch some elusive sleep. All he succeeds in doing is staring at the wall for an indeterminable amount of time.
He’s finally drifting, half-asleep, when a knock on the door jerks him back to awareness. He looks up as a head pokes around the door. His visitor looks a little wary, but smiles hesitantly. “Hey.”
“Cook!” David nearly falls off the bed in his haste to get to the man. But once he’s righted himself he stops in his tracks, standing awkwardly.
Amusement is replacing the wariness. “Does this mean I can come in?”
“Gosh, yes. Please.”
Cook grins as he steps inside. He gets one arm about halfway up in David’s direction, and that’s all the invitation David can wait for. He lunges in and tucks himself close, resting his head under Cook’s chin.
He feels the vibration of Cook’s chest as he chuckles. “Guess you missed me too, huh?” He closes the embrace, rubbing David’s back gently. “I’m sorry, Arch.”
“It’s okay,” David whispers. ‘My fault,’ he thinks, but doesn’t say aloud.
Cook doesn’t release him until David finally steps back. He watches as the older man turns to close the door behind him. “How did you get up here?” he asks. “We’re not really supposed to have visitors in our rooms.”
Cook grins. “I’ve got skills. And, you know, an American Idol title.”
They take a seat on his bed. Cook tells him about his most recent photo shoot, rolling his eyes as he talks about the make-up artist and her obsession with trying new looks on him.
David eyes Cook’s hair, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead he sympathizes, “She didn’t do anything permanent, I hope.”
Cook’s eyes brighten. “Ooh, that reminds me! I haven’t shown you my new tattoo, have I?”
David’s eyebrows go up. “No…” he replies hesitantly. He’s kind of afraid to see where a guy who had an eye inked on his inner wrist would go next. But Cook’s already sitting up and peeling his t-shirt over his head, so David just sort of sits quietly. Maybe it should be weird, but Cook was never exactly shy.
It’s between his shoulder blades. It’s fairly small and all black ink, and David has to scoot closer and squint to identify the intricate little figure and the wings unfurling around it. “It’s an angel?” He makes it a question not because he can’t identify it, but because he wonders about the reasoning behind it. He knows Cook wouldn’t get something without deep meaning to him.
Cook shrugs, suddenly seeming a little self-conscious as he slips the shirt back on. “It’s watching over me, I guess.”
“It’s nice,” David assures. “Better than the last one,” he adds under his breath, eyes drawn to the creepy eye staring at him from Cook’s wrist.
“What was that?”
David blinks innocently. “Nothing? Um…it kind of goes with a theme, I guess. Except the last one’s not so much watching over as just…watching.” He’s babbling now, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “Not that it’s not cool? I’m sure no one interprets it as an issue with voyeurism or anything.”
“Archuleta!” Cook exclaims indignantly. It’s kind of ruined by his laughter. David reads the look in his eyes and yelps, trying to scramble away. He’s not quick enough. Cook grabs him, one arm around his chest to tug him close. The other hand finds its way to his belly, tickling mercilessly. David laughs and squirms out of reflex, not really wanting to get away. “Cook,” he complains breathlessly between giggles.
The sound of the door clicking open and high heels tapping the floor breaks through the laughter. Cook’s hand stills as they both look around at the woman now standing in his doorway with her eyebrows raised.
“Doctor Campbell,” David mutters in greeting. He’s still trying to calm his giggles and can’t quite wipe the smile off his face. All he can think is that he’s glad she didn’t show up about five minutes earlier when Cook had his shirt off. That might have been even more awkward. “David Cook, this is my…Doctor Campbell.”
Cook releases him with a squeeze to his shoulders, standing to offer his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Call me Sarah,” she says with a smile, and David resists the urge to roll his eyes. He’d almost forgotten the effect Cook could have on women.
Cook gives her a charming grin. “Sarah. Is it all right that I’m in here?”
“Well, normally it would be against the rules, but…” her gaze drifts to David, evaluating, and he knows she heard him laughing. “I think we can make an exception.”
oOo
“You still set on that house in the mountains?”
David shrugs, a little discomfited by the topic. Lately, truth be told, he hasn’t put a lot of thought to getting out of here. “I don’t know.”
“Well, if you decide to consider more local options, I’ve got plenty of extra space at my place.”
David’s hands still and he stares. “I…I don’t understand.”
Cook’s lips quirk gently. “That’s generally referred to as an invitation.”
“Like…for a weekend, or…”
“Like for as long as you want, Arch.”
He hesitates, still surprised. This is a lot more than a commitment to visit, and he wonders if Cook’s really thought it through. He doesn’t want to be a burden. “You don’t have to.”
Cook’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I know. But I am.”
“You’ve already done so much.”
“Like what? Bringing the ice cream?”
“It was really good ice cream,” David says lamely.
“Hey. No pressure. It’s totally cool if you have other plans. I’m just offering the option, if you want.”
He promises to think about it.
oOo
One afternoon, he asks Cook if he’s heard anything from any of the others apart from Michael. He talks about Kristy Lee, who’s recording a new album in Nashville, and Syesha’s new part in an off-Broadway show. They laugh about Carly’s comments about the nightclub job she’s holding down whilst trying to record. Then, they talk about Brooke.
Brooke’s had a hard time of it in terms of the music world. She’d finally found a label and was in negotiations, but they wanted a lot of compromises from her. Still, David’s shocked when Cook says that she gave up the contract. “She and her husband want to start a family. So she’s decided to sit out for a while, concentrate on more important stuff.”
“She’s giving up on music?” His voice breaks a little on the last word.
Cook looks over at him, concerned. “More like taking a break, I think.”
Abruptly, David feels tears gathering in his eyes. He sniffles, his breathing grows erratic as he swipes at them. And jeez, after all this time, this is kind of an irrelevant thing to have a breakdown over.
Cook appears to have a little moment of confused panic. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. She seemed really happy about the decision, actually…”
Then something clicks and he seems to get it, which makes him kind of brilliant, because even David doesn’t understand yet. But Cook’s expression softens and there’s understanding in his eyes as he places a hand softly on David’s shoulder.
David tries to make sense of his reaction, trying to distract himself. He loves Brooke, in a big sister sort of way, so it’s natural that he should be sad for her. But that’s not enough to make him cry. She loves music, but it isn’t fulfilling her needs right now. She won’t give herself up for it. So, it’s not giving up music so much as she’s taking control of it.
Control.
It hits like a punch in the stomach. Brooke’s sacrificing this dream they all love, and he envies her.
He tries to keep a lid on the emotion, tries to hold in his tears. But after so long, it’s overwhelming.
“You don’t have to do that.” Cook’s hand is still on his shoulder, thumb rubbing back and forth. David looks over at him. Cook doesn’t reach for him beyond that, doesn’t force him into an embrace. He’s just making an offer. “Its okay, David.”
The gentle understanding is too much. With a helpless whimper, he gives in to the emotion and moves. And then he’s practically in Cook’s lap, which is possibly a little presumptuous based on one gentle touch to the shoulder. But Cook pulls him closer still, shifting him to a more comfortable position.
Cook’s murmuring in his ear, the timbre of his voice low and soothing. It’s a long time before David calms enough to make out the words.
“I’ve got you, Archie. I won’t let you go.”
oOo
Apparently, there’s something to be said for emotional breakdowns.
After that day with Cook, it’s like the floodgates are open. Sometimes, he can’t stop crying. But he starts talking, too. Dr. Campbell takes the change in stride, but he can tell she’s pleased with his progress now.
But there’s still one question David dreads, one he’s never really answered outright. It happens to be one thing Cook has never asked.
Without preamble, he makes the offer. “You can ask me, if you want.”
Cook looks over at him. He has no way of knowing what David’s talking about, but he doesn’t let that stop him. “Okay. Archie…do you really hate the tattoo?”
David blinks at him. Cook flicks his wrist helpfully. He seems serious enough, but there’s a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “It’s important to you…” David starts, uncertain. “I like the angel?”
“That’s not what I asked.”
David knows he’s being teased. He gives in with a huff. “Fine. I could write a song about that thing, okay? I’d have to call it, like, ‘Fear and Loathing in the Cyclops’ Cave’ or something.”
Then Cook’s laughing so hysterically he probably can’t breathe, hanging onto David to keep from toppling over head-first. David rolls his eyes, but he can’t help smiling along with him.
“Fair enough,” Cook concedes, wiping at his eyes. “Okay, what did you really want me to ask?”
David hesitates, sobering quickly. But he soldiers on. “Why I did it. It’s the first thing everyone else wanted to know.”
“I figured you’d tell me, if you wanted. When you were ready.”
“I…” David swallows hard. His instinct is still to make excuses, to fumble his way through an ‘I don’t know.’ But that isn’t why he brought it up.
There were so many contributing factors; they’ve discussed some of them. But how they all piled up, how he mentally went to that place of no return, the emotions there…he still doesn’t even want to think about them. But the question deserves an honest answer. David needs to give it an honest answer.
“I know I’m sick,” he begins hesitantly. “I know well people don’t see suicide as a viable option.” And…wow. He’s heard the word batted around about a million times, but he’s never actually said it. He has to pause for a few deep breaths before he continues. “I think that’s why it’s so hard to explain to people who’ve never been there.”
He takes a few more silent minutes to think, during which Cook waits patiently. Finally he adds, “There were a lot of things that happened, some you know and some…” Some that he’s still not ready to talk about. He swallows and moves on. “Half the time nothing was even about the music, the other half I felt like I was compromising it. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, you know…” He pauses again. “I was just so tired. I felt trapped, and lost. Which sounds like a contradiction, I know, but…I was losing myself. And I didn’t know how to stop it.”
Cook studies him for a long time. David can’t meet his eyes, but he can feel the solemn gaze. A hand comes to rest on his head, more a caress than anything. “Are you found yet?”
He looks up, and can’t help but remember the feel of strong arms around him, holding him together while he fell apart. The corners of his lips turn up ever-so-slightly. “I think maybe I’m getting there.”
oOo
Author's Notes: This thing has kind of been a labor of love. I started it months ago, then abandoned it, then picked it up, then abandoned it again. At some point I started jotting down ideas for a sequel. I got kind of excited about that, so it forced me to finish this one! I know the topic is a difficult one; I suppose I'm a little anxious to see how it will be received.
Thank you for reading!