AVALANCHE: Falling Leaf [4/?] -- PG
[title] AVALANCHE: Falling Leaf [4/?]
[author] kissontheneck [aka fieryrogue]
[pairing] Cookleta, Marly UST, bromance!Mavid
[beta] the unique snowflake known as jehane18
[rating] PG
[word count] 4772
[summary] David is on a nice holiday ski trip with his family. Unfortunately, he doesn't know how to ski, but a couple private lessons should remedy that problem.
[disclaimer] Surely, I have nothing to do with either of these fine young men, no matter how much I wish I did.
[warnings]
[author's notes] Seriously though, Jay saves my life. She pulls me through when I wade too deep into these flights of fancy. She also replaces my run-on sentences with one simple word that is always better. She calls me out on my overly-romanticized writing. I have ADD and she's my ritalin. She's the wind beneath my wings... Um, is this a love poem yet?
By the way, Jay, "Utahn" really is the word. I know, right??
PART ONE: Milk Run
PART TWO: Fresh Powder
PART THREE: Drop In
PART FOUR:
AVALANCHE: Falling Leaf
Squinting through the darkness David could see that the clock in his and Daniel's room was inching towards 1:00. Everyone had gone to bed nearly an hour and a half ago, but he just couldn't sleep, and this time it had little to do with Daniel's snoring and periodic mid-sleep blanket stealing. He'd been thinking about Cook all through dinner, all through the family walk around the lodge and all through three hours of board games. When staring at the notes he'd made while playing Clue he couldn't keep a thought long enough to remember if he'd decided the murder weapon was the rope or the revolver. Instead of Mr. Green in the library with the lead pipe, all he could picture was Cook in the lodge restaurant with a soda straw.
His interaction with Cook had been awkward. Every interaction David had with other people was already awkward, and he was quite used to that, actually. He never knew what to do with his hands for instance. But it was Cook's friends, or more specifically what they'd said, that made his heart beat a little bit faster. They had mentioned that Cook had been telling them all about him, that they'd heard so much about him already. And it was this that kept David wide awake and staring at the ceiling. Cook had been talking about him to his friends, something he was definitely not used to. People did not talk about David Archuleta because David Archuleta was quiet and shy and went about his business in the usual way, rarely drawing any attention to himself whatsoever.
Suddenly knowing that a person he just met was bothering to tell his friends about him made David feel more than a little strange. Mostly this was because his brain was processing the information as if he were a twelve year old girl. He's talking about me, his brain would repeat. He's talking about me, he's talking about me, oh my gosh, he's talking about me. And in a twelve year old way that of course means that the one doing the talking is so obviously crushing on the talked about. It made David's heart beat so hard that he was certain everyone around him could hear it.
On the other hand, the reasonable part of his brain told him he was crazy, exaggerating what he'd heard and dwelling on something that was completely unfounded. Of course Cook talked about him. People talked about their work to their friends all the time and if a person only had one client for the whole day then certainly that would have been all there was to talk about. It was more likely that Cook was saying how awful a student David turned out to be and that he couldn't wait until he got to move on to someone different.
Sighing heavily, David turned from one side to the other, realizing now that his brother had managed to push him even closer to the bed's edge. He really wished his brain would shut off and let him get some amount of sleep because dealing with Daniel's slumbering antics kept him unrested enough already. Squeezing his eyes tightly closed, he tried to will himself to sleep, giving his best attempt to banish David Cook and soda straws and knowing looks from his mind. He almost succeeded when a sudden jab of Daniel's elbow pierced him painfully in the rib, making him flap one arm at his brother and hiss, "Gosh dang it, Daniel!"
Yet Daniel slumbered on and David had finally had enough. If he was going to not sleep at all, he could at least not sleep somewhere where he wouldn't be accosted by uncontrolled body parts every five minutes. He slipped off the edge of the bed, pulled his pillow from underneath Daniel's shoulder and grabbed a couple of the extra blankets that had been provided in the closet. He stretched one blanket out along the floor and then laid down on it, pulling the other over himself. Laying his head down on his pillow, he closed his eyes, determined to not think about David Cook or his mysterious friends.
~*~
In the morning tiny flakes of snow were beginning to flutter down from the sky, which stuck to David's eyelashes as he struggled to pull his skis along behind him on his way down to the lodge. Anxiety played across his insides as he marched, while thoughts of Cook still occupied his mind. Now that he was on a purposeful trek to meet up with the man, he gave up on resisting thoughts about him. Especially since he now felt even more worried about acting like a fool in front of him.
Cook, however, greeted his charge in much the same way he had the day before, which actually relieved David immensely. Either the guy was a total professional or the older, more reasonable part of David's brain had been right. Besides, David kept forgetting that for all he knew Cook was married -- perhaps to that girl he was having dinner with even -- and how in all reality David would never have the courage to find out anything very personal about his instructor. He needed to remind himself that he just had a crush. A simple crush on someone who happened to be ruggedly attractive and funny and kind all at the same time.
"Morning, David," Cook said once David had come within earshot. "Hope you slept well, we've got lots of work to do today."
David almost choked on his breath. "Oh yeah," he lied. "Slept like a baby."
"Excellent," Cook replied, beaming. "Looks like we're gonna get some new snow today. I think the weather's called to get a bit heavier later on, so by tomorrow we'll have a nice fresh blanket to work on." He paused as he pulled his thick gloves from his pants pockets and started putting them on. "Come on then, we've got to get you ready. Let's go right for the first easy trail, what say you?"
What David said was, "Um, okay," though he really felt like saying, "Oh, can't we just go inside for a hot chocolate or something? I promise I won't tell my dad."
Together they trekked over to the slope Cook indicated, though David immediately saw why Cook had used the word trail instead. It was barely sloped more than the practice area where all the little kids were skiing, not that David minded that too much. He was actually thankful that he wouldn't suddenly be plummeting to his death at high speeds down the mountain face. It was also relatively empty, which was also nice, though David suspected this had to do with it being too easy for anyone to actually use.
"All right, up here now," Cook instructed, gesturing towards where he stood. "You'll see that it's a little bit harder than it looks from down there, but I think you'll do fine. Have any questions before we get started?
David couldn't think of what to do except shake his head as he gripped his ski poles tightly.
"Great," Cook replied, pulling his ski goggles down onto his face. "First I'll show you the snowplow stop, okay? It's pretty easy and it will allow you to stop stressing about how on earth you're going to keep from falling to your death down the mountain like I know you are right now."
David could feel heat rising in his cheeks and silently thanked heaven that his face was half covered in goggles and scarf and whatnot. He kneaded his fingers a few times around the pole grips and nodded, trying his best to look as fearless as possible.
A smile played at the corners of Cook's mouth as if he found something amusing. It distracted David for a moment as his brain strained to read into it too much. Ultimately he decided he needed to focus on Cook's words as he started explaining about how to do this snowplow thing. It sounded easy enough and he watched Cook swoosh back and forth in front of him a couple times, pushing the front tips of his skis towards one another into a V when he wanted to stop. On his last pass by David, Cook leaned easily to one side and turned towards him, a gentle spray of snow coming up off the edge of his ski.
"Okay, your turn, David," Cook directed, pointing a few feet away from them. "The ground slopes just a little bit right there, enough for you to glide along but not so much that you'll fall on your face."
David swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He moved forward a little stiffly, to which Cook called out, "Loosen up, David! Don't forget!"
It turned out that doing a snowplow stop was as easy as Cook had promised. David only had to repeat it three or four times before he felt like he'd mastered the move. When he looked up, he found Cook leaning on one pole and beaming at him. Something about it made his stomach do a small flip.
"Perfect!" Cook called out to him. "Now try applying a little more pressure to one side or the other to turn instead of stomping around like you've been doing when you want to turn around."
For the first time David felt like he could actually do something new without being shown first. He made another pass by Cook and attempted to do as he'd instructed. At first everything felt really right, like he'd finally managed doing something well the first time around. The feeling was short-lived, however, as the familiar feel of unbalance threatened, causing him to jerk into a too-sudden stop."
"That was good," David heard Cook call encouragingly from behind him. "Let me come show you one more time."
As Cook came closer, David took large awkward steps in order to turn himself around. Once situated, Cook explained to him in better detail about applying a certain amount of pressure on one of his skis in order to turn across his path. It seemed confusing at first, mostly because David always had a little trouble with steering things and trying to remember if he needed to do something with his left in order to go right or vice versa. However, he was a little embarrassed to ask Cook to repeat himself, especially since Cook kept telling him how great he had been doing.
"Got all that?" Cook asked, wrapping up his explanation. David was distracted a second by the sun glinting off Cook's goggles.
"Yeah," he answered, pressing his lips together firmly and trying to focus more on Cook's words and less on what he was wearing. "Got it."
"You look doubtful," Cook hummed, rubbing his chin with the back of his glove. "Don't be embarrassed, it's not a race. I'm here to help you, remember?"
David tried to stare straight ahead of him. He didn't quite know what to say. Obviously Cook knew he still felt a little uneasy, yet David sort of wanted to not have to have his hand held like a baby yet again. Instead of doing anything, he took a deep breath that ended in a sigh.
"I'm gonna show you," Cook said, definitively. He jabbed his ski poles into the snow and moved a little closer. "Is it okay if I show you?"
Though part of him wanted to resist, David nodded his head stiffly. A second later Cook's hands were on David's shoulders, which only made him freeze up more rather than relax. Sound seemed to melt away into the muffling snow banks even though he knew Cook was talking very closely to his face. Cook's hands moved to his sides and David swore he went completely deaf. All he could do right now was feel -- the gentle pressures Cook's hands made on his waist in one direction and then the other, the warmth that curled around in his stomach, the whoosh of air as Cook leaned forward for a half a second as he disentangled himself from David's personal space.
"All right, off you go," Cook encouraged from somewhere behind him. David felt a twinge of panic rise in his chest; he hadn't heard a word Cook had said about the snowplow... wedge... turn thingy. He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer.
Dear God, please let me do this right just once.
Prayer proved itself the answer because David managed to turn his skis properly and then slip into what he felt had to be the most perfect turn ever attempted by a clumsy Utahn who'd never skied before in his life. When he glanced up in Cook's direction he got to pretend like it had been; Cook was grinning ear to ear and giving him a thick-gloved thumbs up.
"Great work," Cook complimented. "Now, that's enough book work, let's put these new moves into action, huh?"
For the next hour or so David followed Cook around the slopes, practicing what he'd just learned. He marveled at how patient Cook was with him and how he didn't mind stopping or taking a certain spot slowly. Cook had to be the best teacher he'd ever had in any respect, which only served to make him become even fonder of his instructor. He continued to try to fight the weird feeling he'd get in his chest every now and then and almost ran into a tree whenever Cook did any kind of showy move ahead of him.
They'd traveled down the path quite a ways when Cook took a bit of a run at the slight hill in front of them, leaving David to need to push himself to catch up. Cook stopped at the peak, however, and waited patiently for David to do the same.
"It's almost noon," Cook said as David caught up with him. "Time for a break. Follow me."
David stared after Cook a moment as he suddenly diverted off the main ski path and towards a thick line of trees. Looking around him, David felt suddenly frozen to the spot. He wasn't exactly comfortable wandering away from the well-traveled areas of the mountain, mostly out of the assumption that if he ended up too tangled and helpless on the path someone was bound to come across him eventually and drag him back to the lodge. And though he trusted Cook and didn't think he'd suddenly become the victim of some bizarre ski vacation horror film, David always felt anxious about breaking the rules. Obviously the paths were placed where they were for good reason; going off them amounted to leaving civilization in David's mind.
"Are you stuck?" Cook called, breaking David's train of thought. He'd stopped just where the trees began and turned to look back. "Come on, it's okay, really. There's a hiking trail here."
Something in David encouraged him forward, despite the fact that the snow was clearly going to be more difficult to maneuver where Cook was headed. As soon as he caught up, Cook started out again, leading David a little further amongst the trees. As the trees became thicker, it became even more difficult to keep up, and David lagged a little more with each minute. Cook remained quiet as he trekked onward, and after what must have been at least ten minutes David began reconsidering the ski vacation horror film scenario. Not only that, but they had been steadily moving uphill, an action that David fairly confidently understood as the complete opposite of skiing. Thighs aching, he slowed even more, intending to let Cook know that he sort of wanted to go back now. But just before he opened his mouth to finally say so, Cook stopped dead in his tracks, gazing out in front of him.
It took David another minute to join his instructor, but as soon as did he saw exactly why Cook had seemed to instantly fall into reverie. They stood at the peak of a small hill that rolled sharply downward through a serene clearing, its snow untouched by humans. Birds swooped silently through from one tree to another, and a rabbit dashed across the middle, startled by their sudden appearance. The snowflakes seemed bigger here, like floating cut-outs similar to the ones taped in the windows of elementary schools back home. Sun glinted across the untouched blanket, and David surprised himself when a gaspy "Wow" escaped his lips.
Cook looked at him now, smiling. "My thoughts exactly," he said as he pushed his goggles up onto his forehead. "Sometimes I like just coming right here to this spot to get away from the noise inside my head, you know what I mean?"
David nodded, still staring out across the landscape.
"I mean, it's not the only spot that looks like this," Cook continued, "but it's the first one I found when I came here. So it's got some kind of hold on me, I guess."
David could definitely feel the same arresting pull. Something about the deafening silence made it seem like they'd stepped into another world entirely. It reminded him of some of his favorite spots back home in Utah, the places he'd go for a break from the noise that usually filled the Archuleta household.
"Come over here to this side of me," Cook instructed, waving his gloved hand in the direction he wanted David to go. "You can see better at this angle over here."
The peaceful atmosphere must have done something to David, because for the first time in two days he moved without planning out every inch of travel beforehand. He simply moved, pushing one foot out in front of the other as if he'd been cross country skiing all of his life. A swelling of confidence in his chest made him feel lighter than air, and he maneuvered the uneven ground with a swiftness that rivaled even his instructor's.
That is, until he cut too hard into his newly mastered stop and jerked abruptly out of balance.
However, as soon as David felt his equilibrium give way to a backwards fall, he was stopped just as suddenly. Opening his eyes he realized that his arms were being supported firmly and that his shoulders were planted squarely across Cook's broad chest. Instantly his heart came up into his throat; this was more physical contact than he'd had with Cook so far and it made him incredibly more nervous than usual. Though his instinct told him to flail wildly, he remembered that such actions only made matters worse in the end, and so instead he hung there like a limp noodle, relying on Cook to keep him from tumbling to the ground.
"Getting pretty good at this," Cook said, gripping David tighter. "Maybe I should be on mountain rescue instead. They do get paid more after all."
Cook's mouth was so close to David's ear that he could feel the hot breath on his skin. This time David did flail in reaction to the tingling that raced from his heart to his stomach and then across his hips. He flapped his arms uselessly and slipped around against his savior, unable to procure a balanced stance.
"Whoa, hold on, David," Cook said encouragingly, attempting to right his student even against the fighting. "Hold on, buddy. David!"
But it was too late. David's panicked response to the feelings that now pulsed through his veins was too severe. His instinct told him he needed to get away as soon as possible. In a last attempt at freedom he tried pushing against Cook for leverage, but to no avail; instead he only knocked Cook off his own feet and they both tumbled down into the snow, skis, arms and legs tangling together.
The snow fell heavier now. David couldn't believe it; here he was on some desolate point of the mountain, again proving his complete ineptness and awkwardly intertwined on the ground with a guy that already made his heart beat a little faster just by smiling at him. And now he lay there helplessly as giant sheafs of snow fell into his face, collecting into an obscuring blanket across his goggles. This was not good. It was not good at all.
Through the muffled silence came a deep sound, a sound David could feel against his back. Cook was laughing softly.
David kept stiff as a board now, partially out of the cold that came from being plunged into the snow. Cook moved one of his arms and pulled at his leg, until finally he managed to disentangle himself from David. Cook had unbuckled his own skis in order to break loose of the mess.
"Take those off," he instructed David, though he bent to undo the bindings on David's skis himself. "Let's just sit here a minute and re-center, huh? It'll be easier to get up without them anyway."
David watched Cook as he freed him from the devil skis. There was no way he could keep doing this. Cook had been so nice to him, never once getting frustrated with his clumsiness, but this was getting pretty ridiculous. Cook deserved a much more apt pupil than he was.
"I'm so useless," David said finally, now pushing his goggles on top of his head and sweeping snow off his face. "I told Dad he'd be wasting his money."
"Oh, come on now," Cook replied, "you've really improved since yesterday morning. I'm pretty impressed, actually."
"You don't have to say that," David mumbled, picking at one of the many zippers on his jacket. "Not to me anyway. My dad's paying you, you can tell him."
Cook didn't respond right away, so David focused harder on his zipper. He sort of wished he could disappear out of the conversation, off the mountain and back into his bedroom back at home. He'd built up more than enough failure in the last day and a half to annoy his father for the rest of his life, something he really didn't need on top of regular life with the man.
"What do you really want to do?" Cook asked finally.
David looked up to find Cook gazing off into the distance again, his arms hugged tightly around his knees.
"What?" David asked, surprised.
"I mean, is there something you actually like doing that your dad hasn't signed you up for? I know you hate this."
David blinked at Cook a second before answering. It hurt knowing that Cook could tell that. Despite his own distaste for this ridiculous mode of transportation across mountainsides, he knew Cook loved it and he didn't want to put down someone else's interests. He sighed heavily and tugged again at his zipper.
"I don't hate it," he said quietly.
Cook made an unsettling sound. "I fell in love with skiing when I was about fourteen, I guess," he said, still not looking at David. "I actually liked falling in the snow and struggling to do better the next time around. My dad couldn't get me off that ski lift for anything. After a while though he realized that I wasn't just crazy with wild teenage ambition. I was really good and it wasn't long before he signed me up for a local downhill competition."
Cook paused but David continued to watch him. There was something about Cook's tone of voice, something in his expression that made David's insides squirm just a little bit. He couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but he had a strange feeling about this story and where it was leading.
"He did it without asking me," Cook continued, "but at the time I didn't really care. I mean, who doesn't want to be good at something and win medals and stuff, right? I came in third and my mom was over the moon about it. Seriously, she just about smothered me in kisses, I kid you not. Dad on the other hand, well, he followed up his 'proud of you, son' with 'the next one is in two weeks and I know you can win that one.' I suppose you can guess where this is going."
David shuffled uneasily in his spot. He knew exactly where it was going. He could hear his own dad's voice now at Daniel's baseball games or his sister Claudia's volleyball matches and the "We'll work harder next week, won't we?" comments in comparison to his mother's "You look so good out there!"
"Well, he pushed me through those competitions, and I did start winning them. That first gold medal dropped around my neck and I knew my dad would be proud of me then. But when I expected him to say so he instead showed me the training schedule he'd drawn up in preparation for regional competition. I didn't know what to do then. I was starting to miss just skiing for fun. I didn't care so much about competition anymore and had felt like I'd reached the top of my world already. I just wanted to ski, you know? I didn't care if I was actually better than anybody else."
"So did you tell him that?" David asked, hoping for an inspiring answer. Somehow he felt if someone he admired as much as Cook had told off his father that he could somehow do the same.
Cook chuckled gently. "No," he answered. "It was my dad, and even though I was almost eighteen, I never really rebelled against him in anything. So we went to regionals. And when I won that, that's when the real trouble began. Because at that point there was talk of national competition, and sponsorships and expensive trainers. Grueling work schedules." Cook paused, his words seeming to come out more heavily now. "So grueling that I hurt myself in training just before the competition. Dad pushed me back out on the slopes too early and I ended up destroying my right knee."
"Oh my gosh," David gasped, his gloved hand meeting his mouth. "How awful, I'm so sorry!"
"It was the best thing that could happen, really," Cook replied, now smoothing his hands across both his knees before looking over to David. "It got me out of having to do it anymore. My mom came unglued, of course, and she nearly filed for divorce over the whole thing, she was so angry with my dad. Obviously my physical therapy worked enough to let me ski again, but I wasn't fit for competition anymore. Some days it still hurts, but not very often. I keep off it a day and I'm fine. But those days are the longest days of my life."
David's instinct told him he should say something conforting or uplifting, but he was drawing a complete blank. His heart flopped in his stomach with unease and part of him longed to just not have to be in this conversation.
"Point is," Cook finished, looking David directly in the eyes now, "you should do what you want, David. Otherwise you're liable to get hurt."
Cook's gaze was so strong that David had to force himself to look away. He wasn't so naive to not get what Cook was saying. In fact he felt quite uncomfortable with how much the story hit home with him. He recalled how his own father never seemed completely satisfied with anything his children did.
Several minutes passed in silence. The snow was piling so quickly now that their skis were starting to disappear where they lay and any signs of their approach to the clearing were becoming fainter as well. David closed his eyes as the thick flakes grazed his cheeks. They were refreshing against his skin, a sensation that matched the feeling growing in his chest. Somehow even without saying a word David had felt a significant weight lift from his shoulders. Cook had reached out and connected with him, told a personal story to someone he hardly knew. It made him feel good inside, like someone understood him.
Without a word, Cook got to his feet, sweeping the dusting of snow from his pants. He reached his hand out to David and helped him to his feet as well. They both busied themselves putting their skis back on, the world silent except for the satisfying clicks of the boot buckles securing. Once ready, Cook smiled at David, every trace of solemnity melting away as if it'd never known his face.
"Race you down to the bottom," Cook said, pulling his goggles back over his face. "Loser buys the winner lunch."
♥
PART FIVE: Après Ski --->
[author] kissontheneck [aka fieryrogue]
[pairing] Cookleta, Marly UST, bromance!Mavid
[beta] the unique snowflake known as jehane18
[rating] PG
[word count] 4772
[summary] David is on a nice holiday ski trip with his family. Unfortunately, he doesn't know how to ski, but a couple private lessons should remedy that problem.
[disclaimer] Surely, I have nothing to do with either of these fine young men, no matter how much I wish I did.
[warnings]
[author's notes] Seriously though, Jay saves my life. She pulls me through when I wade too deep into these flights of fancy. She also replaces my run-on sentences with one simple word that is always better. She calls me out on my overly-romanticized writing. I have ADD and she's my ritalin. She's the wind beneath my wings... Um, is this a love poem yet?
By the way, Jay, "Utahn" really is the word. I know, right??
PART ONE: Milk Run
PART TWO: Fresh Powder
PART THREE: Drop In
PART FOUR:
AVALANCHE: Falling Leaf
Squinting through the darkness David could see that the clock in his and Daniel's room was inching towards 1:00. Everyone had gone to bed nearly an hour and a half ago, but he just couldn't sleep, and this time it had little to do with Daniel's snoring and periodic mid-sleep blanket stealing. He'd been thinking about Cook all through dinner, all through the family walk around the lodge and all through three hours of board games. When staring at the notes he'd made while playing Clue he couldn't keep a thought long enough to remember if he'd decided the murder weapon was the rope or the revolver. Instead of Mr. Green in the library with the lead pipe, all he could picture was Cook in the lodge restaurant with a soda straw.
His interaction with Cook had been awkward. Every interaction David had with other people was already awkward, and he was quite used to that, actually. He never knew what to do with his hands for instance. But it was Cook's friends, or more specifically what they'd said, that made his heart beat a little bit faster. They had mentioned that Cook had been telling them all about him, that they'd heard so much about him already. And it was this that kept David wide awake and staring at the ceiling. Cook had been talking about him to his friends, something he was definitely not used to. People did not talk about David Archuleta because David Archuleta was quiet and shy and went about his business in the usual way, rarely drawing any attention to himself whatsoever.
Suddenly knowing that a person he just met was bothering to tell his friends about him made David feel more than a little strange. Mostly this was because his brain was processing the information as if he were a twelve year old girl. He's talking about me, his brain would repeat. He's talking about me, he's talking about me, oh my gosh, he's talking about me. And in a twelve year old way that of course means that the one doing the talking is so obviously crushing on the talked about. It made David's heart beat so hard that he was certain everyone around him could hear it.
On the other hand, the reasonable part of his brain told him he was crazy, exaggerating what he'd heard and dwelling on something that was completely unfounded. Of course Cook talked about him. People talked about their work to their friends all the time and if a person only had one client for the whole day then certainly that would have been all there was to talk about. It was more likely that Cook was saying how awful a student David turned out to be and that he couldn't wait until he got to move on to someone different.
Sighing heavily, David turned from one side to the other, realizing now that his brother had managed to push him even closer to the bed's edge. He really wished his brain would shut off and let him get some amount of sleep because dealing with Daniel's slumbering antics kept him unrested enough already. Squeezing his eyes tightly closed, he tried to will himself to sleep, giving his best attempt to banish David Cook and soda straws and knowing looks from his mind. He almost succeeded when a sudden jab of Daniel's elbow pierced him painfully in the rib, making him flap one arm at his brother and hiss, "Gosh dang it, Daniel!"
Yet Daniel slumbered on and David had finally had enough. If he was going to not sleep at all, he could at least not sleep somewhere where he wouldn't be accosted by uncontrolled body parts every five minutes. He slipped off the edge of the bed, pulled his pillow from underneath Daniel's shoulder and grabbed a couple of the extra blankets that had been provided in the closet. He stretched one blanket out along the floor and then laid down on it, pulling the other over himself. Laying his head down on his pillow, he closed his eyes, determined to not think about David Cook or his mysterious friends.
~*~
In the morning tiny flakes of snow were beginning to flutter down from the sky, which stuck to David's eyelashes as he struggled to pull his skis along behind him on his way down to the lodge. Anxiety played across his insides as he marched, while thoughts of Cook still occupied his mind. Now that he was on a purposeful trek to meet up with the man, he gave up on resisting thoughts about him. Especially since he now felt even more worried about acting like a fool in front of him.
Cook, however, greeted his charge in much the same way he had the day before, which actually relieved David immensely. Either the guy was a total professional or the older, more reasonable part of David's brain had been right. Besides, David kept forgetting that for all he knew Cook was married -- perhaps to that girl he was having dinner with even -- and how in all reality David would never have the courage to find out anything very personal about his instructor. He needed to remind himself that he just had a crush. A simple crush on someone who happened to be ruggedly attractive and funny and kind all at the same time.
"Morning, David," Cook said once David had come within earshot. "Hope you slept well, we've got lots of work to do today."
David almost choked on his breath. "Oh yeah," he lied. "Slept like a baby."
"Excellent," Cook replied, beaming. "Looks like we're gonna get some new snow today. I think the weather's called to get a bit heavier later on, so by tomorrow we'll have a nice fresh blanket to work on." He paused as he pulled his thick gloves from his pants pockets and started putting them on. "Come on then, we've got to get you ready. Let's go right for the first easy trail, what say you?"
What David said was, "Um, okay," though he really felt like saying, "Oh, can't we just go inside for a hot chocolate or something? I promise I won't tell my dad."
Together they trekked over to the slope Cook indicated, though David immediately saw why Cook had used the word trail instead. It was barely sloped more than the practice area where all the little kids were skiing, not that David minded that too much. He was actually thankful that he wouldn't suddenly be plummeting to his death at high speeds down the mountain face. It was also relatively empty, which was also nice, though David suspected this had to do with it being too easy for anyone to actually use.
"All right, up here now," Cook instructed, gesturing towards where he stood. "You'll see that it's a little bit harder than it looks from down there, but I think you'll do fine. Have any questions before we get started?
David couldn't think of what to do except shake his head as he gripped his ski poles tightly.
"Great," Cook replied, pulling his ski goggles down onto his face. "First I'll show you the snowplow stop, okay? It's pretty easy and it will allow you to stop stressing about how on earth you're going to keep from falling to your death down the mountain like I know you are right now."
David could feel heat rising in his cheeks and silently thanked heaven that his face was half covered in goggles and scarf and whatnot. He kneaded his fingers a few times around the pole grips and nodded, trying his best to look as fearless as possible.
A smile played at the corners of Cook's mouth as if he found something amusing. It distracted David for a moment as his brain strained to read into it too much. Ultimately he decided he needed to focus on Cook's words as he started explaining about how to do this snowplow thing. It sounded easy enough and he watched Cook swoosh back and forth in front of him a couple times, pushing the front tips of his skis towards one another into a V when he wanted to stop. On his last pass by David, Cook leaned easily to one side and turned towards him, a gentle spray of snow coming up off the edge of his ski.
"Okay, your turn, David," Cook directed, pointing a few feet away from them. "The ground slopes just a little bit right there, enough for you to glide along but not so much that you'll fall on your face."
David swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He moved forward a little stiffly, to which Cook called out, "Loosen up, David! Don't forget!"
It turned out that doing a snowplow stop was as easy as Cook had promised. David only had to repeat it three or four times before he felt like he'd mastered the move. When he looked up, he found Cook leaning on one pole and beaming at him. Something about it made his stomach do a small flip.
"Perfect!" Cook called out to him. "Now try applying a little more pressure to one side or the other to turn instead of stomping around like you've been doing when you want to turn around."
For the first time David felt like he could actually do something new without being shown first. He made another pass by Cook and attempted to do as he'd instructed. At first everything felt really right, like he'd finally managed doing something well the first time around. The feeling was short-lived, however, as the familiar feel of unbalance threatened, causing him to jerk into a too-sudden stop."
"That was good," David heard Cook call encouragingly from behind him. "Let me come show you one more time."
As Cook came closer, David took large awkward steps in order to turn himself around. Once situated, Cook explained to him in better detail about applying a certain amount of pressure on one of his skis in order to turn across his path. It seemed confusing at first, mostly because David always had a little trouble with steering things and trying to remember if he needed to do something with his left in order to go right or vice versa. However, he was a little embarrassed to ask Cook to repeat himself, especially since Cook kept telling him how great he had been doing.
"Got all that?" Cook asked, wrapping up his explanation. David was distracted a second by the sun glinting off Cook's goggles.
"Yeah," he answered, pressing his lips together firmly and trying to focus more on Cook's words and less on what he was wearing. "Got it."
"You look doubtful," Cook hummed, rubbing his chin with the back of his glove. "Don't be embarrassed, it's not a race. I'm here to help you, remember?"
David tried to stare straight ahead of him. He didn't quite know what to say. Obviously Cook knew he still felt a little uneasy, yet David sort of wanted to not have to have his hand held like a baby yet again. Instead of doing anything, he took a deep breath that ended in a sigh.
"I'm gonna show you," Cook said, definitively. He jabbed his ski poles into the snow and moved a little closer. "Is it okay if I show you?"
Though part of him wanted to resist, David nodded his head stiffly. A second later Cook's hands were on David's shoulders, which only made him freeze up more rather than relax. Sound seemed to melt away into the muffling snow banks even though he knew Cook was talking very closely to his face. Cook's hands moved to his sides and David swore he went completely deaf. All he could do right now was feel -- the gentle pressures Cook's hands made on his waist in one direction and then the other, the warmth that curled around in his stomach, the whoosh of air as Cook leaned forward for a half a second as he disentangled himself from David's personal space.
"All right, off you go," Cook encouraged from somewhere behind him. David felt a twinge of panic rise in his chest; he hadn't heard a word Cook had said about the snowplow... wedge... turn thingy. He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer.
Dear God, please let me do this right just once.
Prayer proved itself the answer because David managed to turn his skis properly and then slip into what he felt had to be the most perfect turn ever attempted by a clumsy Utahn who'd never skied before in his life. When he glanced up in Cook's direction he got to pretend like it had been; Cook was grinning ear to ear and giving him a thick-gloved thumbs up.
"Great work," Cook complimented. "Now, that's enough book work, let's put these new moves into action, huh?"
For the next hour or so David followed Cook around the slopes, practicing what he'd just learned. He marveled at how patient Cook was with him and how he didn't mind stopping or taking a certain spot slowly. Cook had to be the best teacher he'd ever had in any respect, which only served to make him become even fonder of his instructor. He continued to try to fight the weird feeling he'd get in his chest every now and then and almost ran into a tree whenever Cook did any kind of showy move ahead of him.
They'd traveled down the path quite a ways when Cook took a bit of a run at the slight hill in front of them, leaving David to need to push himself to catch up. Cook stopped at the peak, however, and waited patiently for David to do the same.
"It's almost noon," Cook said as David caught up with him. "Time for a break. Follow me."
David stared after Cook a moment as he suddenly diverted off the main ski path and towards a thick line of trees. Looking around him, David felt suddenly frozen to the spot. He wasn't exactly comfortable wandering away from the well-traveled areas of the mountain, mostly out of the assumption that if he ended up too tangled and helpless on the path someone was bound to come across him eventually and drag him back to the lodge. And though he trusted Cook and didn't think he'd suddenly become the victim of some bizarre ski vacation horror film, David always felt anxious about breaking the rules. Obviously the paths were placed where they were for good reason; going off them amounted to leaving civilization in David's mind.
"Are you stuck?" Cook called, breaking David's train of thought. He'd stopped just where the trees began and turned to look back. "Come on, it's okay, really. There's a hiking trail here."
Something in David encouraged him forward, despite the fact that the snow was clearly going to be more difficult to maneuver where Cook was headed. As soon as he caught up, Cook started out again, leading David a little further amongst the trees. As the trees became thicker, it became even more difficult to keep up, and David lagged a little more with each minute. Cook remained quiet as he trekked onward, and after what must have been at least ten minutes David began reconsidering the ski vacation horror film scenario. Not only that, but they had been steadily moving uphill, an action that David fairly confidently understood as the complete opposite of skiing. Thighs aching, he slowed even more, intending to let Cook know that he sort of wanted to go back now. But just before he opened his mouth to finally say so, Cook stopped dead in his tracks, gazing out in front of him.
It took David another minute to join his instructor, but as soon as did he saw exactly why Cook had seemed to instantly fall into reverie. They stood at the peak of a small hill that rolled sharply downward through a serene clearing, its snow untouched by humans. Birds swooped silently through from one tree to another, and a rabbit dashed across the middle, startled by their sudden appearance. The snowflakes seemed bigger here, like floating cut-outs similar to the ones taped in the windows of elementary schools back home. Sun glinted across the untouched blanket, and David surprised himself when a gaspy "Wow" escaped his lips.
Cook looked at him now, smiling. "My thoughts exactly," he said as he pushed his goggles up onto his forehead. "Sometimes I like just coming right here to this spot to get away from the noise inside my head, you know what I mean?"
David nodded, still staring out across the landscape.
"I mean, it's not the only spot that looks like this," Cook continued, "but it's the first one I found when I came here. So it's got some kind of hold on me, I guess."
David could definitely feel the same arresting pull. Something about the deafening silence made it seem like they'd stepped into another world entirely. It reminded him of some of his favorite spots back home in Utah, the places he'd go for a break from the noise that usually filled the Archuleta household.
"Come over here to this side of me," Cook instructed, waving his gloved hand in the direction he wanted David to go. "You can see better at this angle over here."
The peaceful atmosphere must have done something to David, because for the first time in two days he moved without planning out every inch of travel beforehand. He simply moved, pushing one foot out in front of the other as if he'd been cross country skiing all of his life. A swelling of confidence in his chest made him feel lighter than air, and he maneuvered the uneven ground with a swiftness that rivaled even his instructor's.
That is, until he cut too hard into his newly mastered stop and jerked abruptly out of balance.
However, as soon as David felt his equilibrium give way to a backwards fall, he was stopped just as suddenly. Opening his eyes he realized that his arms were being supported firmly and that his shoulders were planted squarely across Cook's broad chest. Instantly his heart came up into his throat; this was more physical contact than he'd had with Cook so far and it made him incredibly more nervous than usual. Though his instinct told him to flail wildly, he remembered that such actions only made matters worse in the end, and so instead he hung there like a limp noodle, relying on Cook to keep him from tumbling to the ground.
"Getting pretty good at this," Cook said, gripping David tighter. "Maybe I should be on mountain rescue instead. They do get paid more after all."
Cook's mouth was so close to David's ear that he could feel the hot breath on his skin. This time David did flail in reaction to the tingling that raced from his heart to his stomach and then across his hips. He flapped his arms uselessly and slipped around against his savior, unable to procure a balanced stance.
"Whoa, hold on, David," Cook said encouragingly, attempting to right his student even against the fighting. "Hold on, buddy. David!"
But it was too late. David's panicked response to the feelings that now pulsed through his veins was too severe. His instinct told him he needed to get away as soon as possible. In a last attempt at freedom he tried pushing against Cook for leverage, but to no avail; instead he only knocked Cook off his own feet and they both tumbled down into the snow, skis, arms and legs tangling together.
The snow fell heavier now. David couldn't believe it; here he was on some desolate point of the mountain, again proving his complete ineptness and awkwardly intertwined on the ground with a guy that already made his heart beat a little faster just by smiling at him. And now he lay there helplessly as giant sheafs of snow fell into his face, collecting into an obscuring blanket across his goggles. This was not good. It was not good at all.
Through the muffled silence came a deep sound, a sound David could feel against his back. Cook was laughing softly.
David kept stiff as a board now, partially out of the cold that came from being plunged into the snow. Cook moved one of his arms and pulled at his leg, until finally he managed to disentangle himself from David. Cook had unbuckled his own skis in order to break loose of the mess.
"Take those off," he instructed David, though he bent to undo the bindings on David's skis himself. "Let's just sit here a minute and re-center, huh? It'll be easier to get up without them anyway."
David watched Cook as he freed him from the devil skis. There was no way he could keep doing this. Cook had been so nice to him, never once getting frustrated with his clumsiness, but this was getting pretty ridiculous. Cook deserved a much more apt pupil than he was.
"I'm so useless," David said finally, now pushing his goggles on top of his head and sweeping snow off his face. "I told Dad he'd be wasting his money."
"Oh, come on now," Cook replied, "you've really improved since yesterday morning. I'm pretty impressed, actually."
"You don't have to say that," David mumbled, picking at one of the many zippers on his jacket. "Not to me anyway. My dad's paying you, you can tell him."
Cook didn't respond right away, so David focused harder on his zipper. He sort of wished he could disappear out of the conversation, off the mountain and back into his bedroom back at home. He'd built up more than enough failure in the last day and a half to annoy his father for the rest of his life, something he really didn't need on top of regular life with the man.
"What do you really want to do?" Cook asked finally.
David looked up to find Cook gazing off into the distance again, his arms hugged tightly around his knees.
"What?" David asked, surprised.
"I mean, is there something you actually like doing that your dad hasn't signed you up for? I know you hate this."
David blinked at Cook a second before answering. It hurt knowing that Cook could tell that. Despite his own distaste for this ridiculous mode of transportation across mountainsides, he knew Cook loved it and he didn't want to put down someone else's interests. He sighed heavily and tugged again at his zipper.
"I don't hate it," he said quietly.
Cook made an unsettling sound. "I fell in love with skiing when I was about fourteen, I guess," he said, still not looking at David. "I actually liked falling in the snow and struggling to do better the next time around. My dad couldn't get me off that ski lift for anything. After a while though he realized that I wasn't just crazy with wild teenage ambition. I was really good and it wasn't long before he signed me up for a local downhill competition."
Cook paused but David continued to watch him. There was something about Cook's tone of voice, something in his expression that made David's insides squirm just a little bit. He couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but he had a strange feeling about this story and where it was leading.
"He did it without asking me," Cook continued, "but at the time I didn't really care. I mean, who doesn't want to be good at something and win medals and stuff, right? I came in third and my mom was over the moon about it. Seriously, she just about smothered me in kisses, I kid you not. Dad on the other hand, well, he followed up his 'proud of you, son' with 'the next one is in two weeks and I know you can win that one.' I suppose you can guess where this is going."
David shuffled uneasily in his spot. He knew exactly where it was going. He could hear his own dad's voice now at Daniel's baseball games or his sister Claudia's volleyball matches and the "We'll work harder next week, won't we?" comments in comparison to his mother's "You look so good out there!"
"Well, he pushed me through those competitions, and I did start winning them. That first gold medal dropped around my neck and I knew my dad would be proud of me then. But when I expected him to say so he instead showed me the training schedule he'd drawn up in preparation for regional competition. I didn't know what to do then. I was starting to miss just skiing for fun. I didn't care so much about competition anymore and had felt like I'd reached the top of my world already. I just wanted to ski, you know? I didn't care if I was actually better than anybody else."
"So did you tell him that?" David asked, hoping for an inspiring answer. Somehow he felt if someone he admired as much as Cook had told off his father that he could somehow do the same.
Cook chuckled gently. "No," he answered. "It was my dad, and even though I was almost eighteen, I never really rebelled against him in anything. So we went to regionals. And when I won that, that's when the real trouble began. Because at that point there was talk of national competition, and sponsorships and expensive trainers. Grueling work schedules." Cook paused, his words seeming to come out more heavily now. "So grueling that I hurt myself in training just before the competition. Dad pushed me back out on the slopes too early and I ended up destroying my right knee."
"Oh my gosh," David gasped, his gloved hand meeting his mouth. "How awful, I'm so sorry!"
"It was the best thing that could happen, really," Cook replied, now smoothing his hands across both his knees before looking over to David. "It got me out of having to do it anymore. My mom came unglued, of course, and she nearly filed for divorce over the whole thing, she was so angry with my dad. Obviously my physical therapy worked enough to let me ski again, but I wasn't fit for competition anymore. Some days it still hurts, but not very often. I keep off it a day and I'm fine. But those days are the longest days of my life."
David's instinct told him he should say something conforting or uplifting, but he was drawing a complete blank. His heart flopped in his stomach with unease and part of him longed to just not have to be in this conversation.
"Point is," Cook finished, looking David directly in the eyes now, "you should do what you want, David. Otherwise you're liable to get hurt."
Cook's gaze was so strong that David had to force himself to look away. He wasn't so naive to not get what Cook was saying. In fact he felt quite uncomfortable with how much the story hit home with him. He recalled how his own father never seemed completely satisfied with anything his children did.
Several minutes passed in silence. The snow was piling so quickly now that their skis were starting to disappear where they lay and any signs of their approach to the clearing were becoming fainter as well. David closed his eyes as the thick flakes grazed his cheeks. They were refreshing against his skin, a sensation that matched the feeling growing in his chest. Somehow even without saying a word David had felt a significant weight lift from his shoulders. Cook had reached out and connected with him, told a personal story to someone he hardly knew. It made him feel good inside, like someone understood him.
Without a word, Cook got to his feet, sweeping the dusting of snow from his pants. He reached his hand out to David and helped him to his feet as well. They both busied themselves putting their skis back on, the world silent except for the satisfying clicks of the boot buckles securing. Once ready, Cook smiled at David, every trace of solemnity melting away as if it'd never known his face.
"Race you down to the bottom," Cook said, pulling his goggles back over his face. "Loser buys the winner lunch."
♥
PART FIVE: Après Ski --->