LABYRINTH 2015: NINE ½ WEEKS IN L.A. (American Idol S7 RPF), [Cook/Archuleta], [NC-17] - PART THREE
PART THREE: FALLING
1. THE DANCE
There's such a fooled heart
Beating so fast in search of new dreams
A love that will last within your heart
I'll place the moon within your heart
Bright lights, popping flashbulbs. The premiere for Labyrinth 2015 at the renovated Globe theatre in Hollywood.
Cook stands on the red carpet, wearing a high-necked black jacket that’s cut cunningly against his wide shoulders, that flares like a cape against his knees. Archuleta stands in Armani at his side.
Cook keeps giving the same press sound-bites over and over again: Labyrinth’s classic tale, the triumph of good over evil, so proud and humbled to be standing in Bowie’s shoes. He looks tired, his handsome face gaunt and hollow-cheeked, an exact replica of the Bowie 1986 movie poster, down to the red-rimmed, haunted eyes under the heavy eyeliner.
Archuleta reaches out, puts his hand in Cook's cold one, and is temporarily warmed by Cook's answering, genuine smile.
I've got this. I'm here, Cook.
Cook's entourage fills the red carpet, slowly: spiky blond Roy Mitchell with his multiple ear piercings, his angry blue eyes that stare through Archuleta, brown-haired Jill Harrison, Cook's longtime and loyal assistant, snappy Lynn Siegel, flamboyant in Dolce and Gabanna (Archuleta is surprised he can actually recognize the label; clearly he learned more fashion stuff from Belle and Louisa than he'd thought).
And there's Grant Delano, in his sharp navy pinstripe suit and aviators, neatly combed dark hair, looking more like an Italian banker rather than Cook's manager. Rather than Cook's enabler, pusher, warden to Cook’s prison cell.
Archuleta is used to the chill by now, so he doesn't shiver when Delano stops by them, straightens Cook's silver lapel pin and whispers something in Cook's ear.
Cook nods curtly, and then tells the reporters, "We need to get inside now. Thanks, everyone," and walks down the carpet, drawing Archuleta with him.
They settle into their VIP seats in the movie theatre. One of the producers is giving a hearty welcoming speech.
Further down the aisle, the tiny blonde star of the show waves to Archuleta, radiant in her long silver gown. She's there with an older lady who looks like her mom, with the same fine bone structure and poise, and a tall young man that has new boyfriend written all over him, who kind of glowers at Cook (Archuleta doesn't recognize him, and he doesn't look like a showbiz guy, a little rough and preppy around the edges; maybe he's from Dakota's college).
Cook's nervous, he fidgets a little in his seat beside Archuleta, won't keep hold of his hand. Archuleta knows he's itching to duck out for a private pick-me-up; that he won't do it in front of Jill, but would be considering a side trip to the men's bathroom, so he keeps a firm grip on Cook's fingers, and then the premiere starts.
The movie is fast-paced and fantastic. The state of the art effects are, to Arch's untrained eye, spectacular. Dakota Fanning is phenomenal as Sarah; she'd dyed her hair brunette for the movie, and her dark coiffure makes her beauty translucent, all wide eyes and tremulous courage.
And Cook is every inch the deceptively urbane Goblin King.
Archuleta watches Sarah embark on her brave quest, fighting swamps and lawn-creatures, befriending the denizens of Jareth's kingdom, in order to rescue her brother and to win free of the Labyrinth.
There are the smash cuts to Jareth, alone in his high tower, highlighted against the bizarre purple sky of this land. Cook has less onscreen time than his young co-star, but makes up for it with the scenery-chewing: standing around, gesturing, glowering and gorgeous.
Then there's the central scene in the movie, where Sarah dances with the Goblin King in his glittering ballroom amongst a crowd of partygoers, while Jareth tries with all means at his disposal to dissuade her from her quest.
Archuleta looks across at Cook. His face is pale, in the flickering light of the large screen; his eyes riveted to the movie, where Jareth and Sarah are whirling around and dancing close together.
Finally, they’re at the final climatic scene of the movie, where Sarah faces the ultimate choice and Jareth's knowing eyes.
Jareth leans in, menacing and seductive: “Yes, I can see it in your eyes. No one else has ever made it this far in the Labyrinth, no one else has ever been worthy…”.
Dakota looks like she's no older than sixteen, of course, and like she's been entirely untouched.
Cook says, Jareth says, “I'm no longer interested in having a little goblin prince: I've decided I'd much rather have a queen.”
High in their room, at the top of the Labyrinth’s high tower, Jareth's black cloak blowing across them both, in a hidden storm, Sarah's innocent face flushes for an instant, with desire.
Cook's hand suddenly clasps Arch's in a death grip. His face is impassive, but the desperate clutch of his fingers speaks volumes to Archuleta.
Cook, I'm here.
And then Sarah makes her choice, the white bird flies to her shoulder. Her courage drives Jareth to his knees; alone, he watches as she makes her daring rescue, and leaps off the tower with the baby in her arms.
There's Sarah's reunion with her family in the real world, and then the screen goes dark.
The applause around them rings kind of tepid to Archuleta's ears. Archuleta lets Cook's hand go in order to applaud loyally, wildly - he thinks the movie was fantastic, the effects were fantastic, his movie star boyfriend is fantastic.
Dakota is smiling her brilliant smile, and stands and waves to the crowd. As the house lights come up, Cook looks as if he's about to be sick. His eyes are bloodshot, and there are lines around his mouth.
Archuleta puts his arms around Cook's waist as he gets to his feet. "You okay?" he murmurs, in Cook's ear.
Cook relaxes in Archuleta's arms for a second, rests his cheek against Arch's hair. "Think so," he murmurs, and then, standing straight, he puts his shoulders back, cocks his head ironically, and waves to the audience in his turn.
"Congratulations, Mr. Cook," says one of the producers to them, leans over to shake hands. "Premiere party in ten, all right? Miss Fanning, hope that's okay with you," he adds; Dakota smiles at him and they all file along obediently, Tristar ushers along the way to guide them to the private ballroom at the back of the theatre.
Archuleta keeps a tight hold on Cook's hand as they walk through the murmuring crowd, following Dakota and her entourage. He can feel the tension in Cook's fingers, which is suddenly made far worse when he passes a snatch of muttered conversation: ”Give it a couple'a weeks, straight to DVD", and he sees Cook's face go very still.
"It's okay," Archuleta whispers fiercely, and Cook doesn't break his stride, walking on stiffly, head held high.
They reach the threshold of the ballroom and Cook instantly becomes all affable charm, smiling at the bigwigs lining the doorway to speak to their big star.
Archuleta looks around the ballroom from his vantage point at Cook’s side. It's done up in a replica of the Labyrinth ballroom scene set: glittering chandelier, mirrors on the walls, old-fashioned jazz band, waiters in medieval costume. The buffet table is a little incongruous, but you can't sacrifice style for comfort, even in Hollywood.
Cook is still talking, being deliberately charming to the suits. Archuleta hovers close: he's not letting Cook out of his sight tonight, he knows how close the temptation is when Cook is like this.
Cook notices the hovering and makes a small, shooing grimace which Archuleta ignores. Cook narrows his eyes and mutters, "Don't need a babysitter, David. C'mon, you have better things to do."
Stung by this, Archuleta takes a step away, almost knocking over one of the tray-carrying waiters.
A strong hand reaches his arm, steadying him, and he looks up into the narrow face of Grant Delano.
"Archie."
Delano's voice is as warm and deliberately accommodating as it has always been; of course, Archuleta isn't taken in by this for an instant. He looks warily at the man who has for five years held Cook in thrall to the magic pills and powder, who has turned Cook into this shadow of his former self.
"Grant." He doesn't make the preamble or niceties any more - he knows Grant now, and you can't be expected to make polite conversation with the true Goblin King.
Delano frowns at Arch’s curtness. He looks at his hand on Archuleta's arm, as if considering taking it away, as if considering something else as well. Then he says to Archuleta, "Will you walk with me a while?"
Archuleta holds himself stiffly, allows Delano to guide him slowly across the room, although his body feels the cold of Delano's fingers through the stiff fabric of his jacket.
They walk across the edge of the dance floor. Already there are couples dancing to the live band, probably some professional dancers hired by the studio, as well as a few executives and their trophy husbands or wives who had taken ballroom dancing classes. Delano and Archuleta watch them spin past, bright colors and dark, under the chandelier, like a replica of the fantastical masqued ball in the heart of the Labyrinth.
They come to a stop in a secluded corner of the ballroom, in a good line-of-sight to the entrance where Cook is lingering with the execs.
Archuleta's waiting for Delano to speak, since it was Delano who sought him out. For some reason, Delano seems hesitant, taking his hand away from Archuleta's arm to fiddle with the seam of his jacket, the sharp crease of his trouser leg.
Finally, Delano says, "Arch, I wanted to talk to you about David. I'm a little worried about him."
Archuleta tries not to choke on the irony of this statement. But clearly, it's what evil does: it wears a mask of empathy, of understanding.
He can play the game as well. "Sorry, what's the problem?"
"I think you know," Delano says softly, looking over Archuleta's shoulder, and Archuleta follows his gaze, to where Cook is still holding forth, all expansive arm movements and grandiose gestures.
Archuleta's heart hurts: Cook's so clearly putting on a show. He knows how Cook’s bound to be smarting from the casual remarks they’d heard, from thoughts of the negative Labyrinth reviews, after all his hard work.
Cook’s likely to be even more desperate to escape to the clarity of the powder, the calm of the pills. Cook’s eyes, even across the room, look lost in a labyrinth of his own making.
He’s about to head over to Cook’s side, damn the crack about the babysitting, when he sees David Bowie walk over to Cook, tall and still dashing, wearing an outfit which the stylists have obviously picked for him to wear tonight because it subtly mirrors Cook’s.
Cook takes the older man’s hand, and smiles his first genuine smile of the evening. Bowie leans over and whispers in Cook’s ear.
Delano's voice, in Archuleta's own ear. "I would only say this to you, Arch. David’s out of control. I’m not sure what can be done. I was actually hoping you had some ideas.”
“Me?” Archuleta does in fact choke at the man’s audacity. He stares at Delano, who is looking, fixedly, over at Cook.
“Yes. You're the only one that keeps him grounded, the only one whom he’ll listen to.”
Well, at least Delano has this right. “I love him, I want the best for him,” says Archuleta, very simply; he isn't afraid to admit this even to Delano.
At this, Delano turns to look at Archuleta, something complex flaring in his narrow face. “I know, and I know he knows that - and what’s best for him, after the promos for Labyrinth and AV are over, is to take a break, maybe go away to a clinic.”
“I agree." Arch doesn't want to remember the pills, the games. (Do you love me? Then, swallow.) “And he promised me...he promised me he would. After tonight's premiere."
And why it is that he's talking to the Goblin King about this, he has no idea.
Delano bows his head, exhales slowly. “Good. I was afraid he wouldn't go. You have no idea, Arch.”
Archuleta doesn't understand that conflicted tone in Delano's voice; he has no right to sound so defeated. The outrage that has been bubbling under his skin for weeks and months now rises uncontrollably to the surface. “You’re unbelievable.”
Delano looks at him, eyes a little glazed. “Excuse me?”
The words tumble furiously out of Archuleta. “You did this to him. This is your fault. Do you seriously think it wouldn’t have come to this?”
Does Delano seriously think that he could have kept feeding the pills and powder to Cook, and still have a handle on things? Of course Cook was going to veer out of control, was going to distrust even the people who loved him, was going to play mind-games... Archuleta doesn't want to think about this, he can't do this now, he has to stay strong, in the face of evil.
Arch balls his hands into fists, glares at Delano, who is still staring at him, mouth open, as if he's grown two heads, and perhaps he has, figuratively. This is his enemy, Cook's enemy, to which no mercy should be shown.
And he throws the gauntlet in Delano's face. "I could have gone to the cops. I could have, but it would come back to Cook, and I wouldn’t risk that.”
Delano's narrow face, defeated and glazed, flinching as if Archuleta's words are blows.
When Arch stops speaking, breathing heavily despite himself, Delano looks away as if he's going to throw up.
His voice is very soft when he says, “I tried to do what was best for him, too.”
And then he puts a hand over his face, and, oh, he's crying - stoic, urbane Grant Delano, who has never previously shown any emotion in front of Archuleta, standing on the side of the ballroom in this public place, one hand over his eyes, narrow face crumpled like paper.
Arch is paralyzed. He has the insane urge to reach out to Delano, to comfort him, this man who is the reason for Cook's illness. Curbing the urge is surprisingly difficult.
Eventually, Delano exhausts himself, takes his hand away. His wet face is open and miserable, all masks set aside tonight.
And what he says, in a voice that shakes with emotion, is, “I’ve loved him for such a long time. I never thought things would turn out like this.”
Archuleta can't believe this. He's struck to the core by the tears, this searing declaration of love.
Now the floodgates are open, though, it seems Delano can't stop himself, the words spilling out like a rush of blood. "I'm not sure when he started on the coke. I’m not sure where he’s getting it from.”
Archuleta can't keep up with these revelations. “I thought it was from you.”
Delano shakes his head, blearily. “I don’t blame you." He rubs his hands over his face, in a strange echo of Cook's own gesture. It looks frightening and sad on him. "You’re right, I started this. I gave him pills to help him with the pain, and I didn’t stop.”
Archuleta stares at Delano, and feels as if he's falling, there's no solid ground under his feet. It’s impossible to imagine evil in this guise, in tears, with so much love and hopelessness in his face.
Maybe Grant isn’t the Goblin King.
Delano looks up and they gaze at each other for a long instant. Arch feels as if he's staring into a dark mirror, seeing a twisted simulacrum of his own bottomless love for Cook reflected in Delano's green eyes.
Then Delano's gaze shifts, his brows knit. Arch looks in that direction, back at where Cook and Bowie had been standing and conversing. Bowie's still there, talking to some of the executives, but Cook - Cook is gone.
Arch's heart leaps into his mouth. Leaving Delano, he's weaving past people on the dance floor, pushing through the throng, to get to the men's room. Cook isn't there.
Archuleta backs up, tries the stalls in the hallway. No luck. Where are you.
He breaks out into a run, back to the adjoining VIP theatre. The door's not locked, the theatre dark and deserted. The stairwell is lit up, though.
Archuleta starts up the stairs.
And freezes when he rounds the landing and sees Roy, blond and scowling, coming down, hair standing on end, adjusting his clothes.
Roy stops when he sees Archuleta as well, and opens his mouth to say something, but Arch pushes past him, taking the rest of the steps two at a time.
The men's room is at the top of the stairs.
Arch shoves at the door, as if he expects it to be locked, but it isn't, and he barrels in like a madman.
Cook is leaning against the marble sink. The foil papers and remnants of powder are scattered around him, his jacket is askew, his shirt more open at the throat than it had been fifteen minutes ago.
He runs a hand through his beautifully coiffed hair, which uncannily stays in place.
"Baby," he murmurs without any surprise whatsoever. Archuleta can hardly look at him. Red, glittering eyes, red nose, hard lines around his mouth - he's almost unrecognizable.
Or rather, Arch does recognize him - that hooded expression filled with intent, gaunt cheekbones, hungry mouth. Jareth.
"Ran into Roy coming down the stairs," Archuleta says, in a shaking voice he recognizes, too.
Cook shrugs, but a shadow passes over his face. "Roy thinks he knows lots of things," he says. One hand sweeps the papers and debris to the floor, missing the trash can narrowly. "Shit." His eyes flicker to Arch's, nervousness and dissembling warring with each other in his expression.
Archuleta's heart aches so much he can hardly speak. "You promised not to do this," he breathes, and Cook shakes his head.
"It's nothing, babe. I just needed to get my head on straight."
Arch keeps looking at him, although it is so difficult - the glittering eyes don't belong to the man he loves, still loves.
"I love you," he whispers, though he's not sure who it is that hears him.
Cook's mouth softens, and Arch sees he can still reach him, just about. Whether he'll always be able to do that is the question.
"I know," says Cook, quietly. "It's what keeps me sane."
Is this sanity? wonders Arch, as he watches Cook rub a hand over his face, then shed the skin of the vulnerable man and stand up straight, tall and commanding, cloaked in the glamour of the Goblin King.
It's Jareth who reaches a hand out to Arch.
"Shall we get back? I'd like to dance at my party."
There's endless night in the eyes of the Goblin King.
Archuleta is fascinated by this realization. Appalled by it as well, of course. How it is that he's been blind for this long.
The King has always been here.
A glittering ballroom, Sarah dancing; a high white tower, Sarah making her choice.
Arch takes the outstretched white hand.
"Okay, let's dance," he tells the Goblin King.
*
2. LAST SCENE
no, I can't escape
I'm a slave to love
Cook is standing in the ballroom at the premiere of his movie, chatting with an endless row of movie execs and showbiz suits.
The sea of falsely smiling faces makes him sick. The shiny, disingenuous eyes, lying voices that tell him the things he wants to hear; he sees, under the pink, pristine skin, the grinning teeth, the white skulls. He's seized with the desire to claw the flesh off the masks, until there is no more pretence.
Actually, come to think of it, he also wants to claw the skin of his own face, and not stop until he reaches bone.
The thing that stops him is Bowie. Hail, Bowie, King of Davids: the only true. Blue eyes, that see all the way to the heart of him.
There's the look that says: I see into your darkness, lad. That says: You’ve inherited the Labyrinth; you’re mired there, in a maze of your own making. That says: I hope you find your way clear without taking anyone else down with you.
He's holding Bowie's hand like it's a lifeline, and for an instant Bowie grips back, leans in and presses his lips to Cook's.
It's a brief, but surprisingly sensual kiss. Something passes between them. If only Cook can figure what it is, maybe he'll understand, maybe he'll regain his equilibrium and discover how to stand upright in the world that's full of pain and love and a lack thereof.
But then Bowie's called away, leaves him with Good luck, and Cook is floundering, falling; he needs to get away.
Roy's there, and there's a cloud of white, to encompass him, to catch him.
Then, Cook knows exactly how he feels. He's sharp, incisive, entirely here. He's treading the knife's edge of consciousness like a whetted blade. He wears his Jareth coat like it's a mantle. King David: that's his rubric now. Bowie was passing the torch. It's now up to him.
For some reason, Roy is gone, and David Archuleta is in the room instead.
He looks at the one man he loves, he's always loved.
For an instant, he sees himself through Archuleta's eyes: his shirt open at the neck, where Roy's fingers have been; the foil papers and remnants of powder scattered around him. He's sure his eyes and nose are red from breathing in the white.
He tries to get rid of the papers, to sweep everything away with his hand; still thinks maybe he can fool Arch, try to pretend everything's good between them, that he's not...
…He tries to sweep the evidence away with one hand, aiming for the trash. Ah, damn: he misses. These days, he misses far too often. This entire damn movie was a miss.
"I love you," Arch tells him; for an instant he believes it, remembers pills, Arch swallowing from love. Yes, Arch loves him; had been willing to risk many things for him.
Arch's eyes are dark and worried and a little despairing. Too much love there, maybe. He's not sure he can handle this in this moment, he's still too close to the edge, to the realization that, that.... No.
He needs more clarity; needs to be invulnerable, the man that never misses, needs to be King Jareth.
Then, he sees himself, through Arch's eyes, through everybody's: shedding weakness, uncertainty. Standing up straight, tall and commanding, cloaked in the glamour of the Goblin King.
He (Jareth) reaches a hand out to Arch.
"Shall we get back? I'd like to dance at my party."
And Arch puts his hand in his and says, all Bowie-like, "Let's dance."
They return to the ballroom, in the heart of the Labyrinth. Cook feels dizzy, for an instant, like he's back on the New York movie set, in this exact same configuration. Mirrors, chandeliers, dancers in bizarre costumes. The world falling down.
The thronging crowd press around him, the people, his people.
He's strong now, still sees the skulls under the smiling faces, but this doesn't rock him any more. King Jareth sees the eventual death of all things, of life and love, and it makes him even more certain of his path.
He keeps firm hold of Arch's hand and steers Arch onto the dance floor.
Archuleta in his arms. His love, his one true. His at last and forever. Here in his labyrinth, where it's safe. The world could fall down and they'd still be here.
Arch... He sees the dark shadows under Arch's eyes. He's struck by how lost they are.
He's dancing with Archuleta, trying to pretend everything's good between them, that he's not incrementally undermining everything that's good between them, that he's not... No.
He sees, now. Sees himself as the others around him see him: tall and handsome, always in control. He's able to command love and loyalty from his people, from Archuleta, who hasn't left him like Jareth's Sarah had done in the movie. Who's stayed by his side, despite everything he's done.
And maybe it’s some trick of the light, or the false high of the powder, but he sees himself then: Cook, the man before the colors, who stood free and clear against the world. Loving, bleeding, all he ever needed was his music, and the love of one man.
And when he couldn't have him those years ago, he decided to destroy himself in the maelstrom of colors, the comfort of white.
Did he think he could have regained this younger self, now Arch had come back? Didn't he think all he'd needed had been Archie's love?
The younger Cook's eyes are full of purpose: he's here to bring a message to the Goblin King.
He can't save you.
Excuse me, Jareth says. You have no place in my kingdom. You're weak and miserable, and Archuleta was right to leave you five years ago.
Yeah, says the younger Cook. And you've become so weak and miserable that you've made sure Archuleta will never leave again. That last game? I can't believe even you would do that to him.
Did you ever love him? Do you even care? You need to send him away, now, before he loses himself forever with you in the Labyrinth.
Jareth stares into the eyes of this younger self: filled with time and pain, and condemnation.
Cook stares into the eyes of his younger self, and the enormity of the weeks and months with Arch, trying to shield their relationship from a storm of snow, of colors, crashes into him.
Suddenly there's nowhere to hide.
He's been trying to pretend he hasn't been ... hasn't been doing his best to break Archuleta down, incrementally, with the games. To keep him here, bound in velvet restraints, in the darkness of the Labyrinth. The last game, Arch had thought the worst of Cook. And still he'd stayed -- what had Cook done --
He pretends... there's no pretense any more. Younger Cook's green eyes become Archuleta's brown ones, filled with the same time, the same pain. He needs to work on the condemnation part.
It shouldn't be hard.
(You need to send him away. Now.)
"Need to talk to you," he tells Arch.
"It'll keep till we get home," says Archuleta.
"It'll be too late when we get home." It's too late now. After Archuleta left, that first time, it’s always been too late.
"Tell me now, then," and Archuleta tilts his face up to Cook's. He's so sad, so beautiful, Cook almost loses his nerve. Feels Jareth rise up inside, laughing at his weakness.
"You need to leave," Cook says, very quietly. "I need for you to leave, Arch."
Archuleta looks calm and unsurprised. "Kind of thought this might be coming," he says, and continues dancing, turning on the dance floor, held securely in Cook's arms. "You know I promised you I wouldn't leave. Not after you promised me you'd get the help you need."
I thought we could do this. I never counted on loving you so much.
Cook can't do this by himself: I never counted on you loving me so much.
The final pretense: he lets Jareth rise.
"That assumes we both keep our promises," he drawls, and Archuleta's face slowly drains of colour. "I'm not sure it's that good an idea, after all."
Archuleta can't talk for a second. Then, "Is there something going on with Roy?" His hands clench on Cook's upper arms. "Suddenly I'm not enough? Is that it?"
Cook doesn't know, Jareth doesn't know; torn between cruelty and the need to make Archuleta see.
Cook knows he'd pushed Roy away. Jareth knows this is the thing that will finally break Archu. And so, both of them say to Archuleta: "Roy has wanted to be with me for a while, I might have let him fool around, it's nothing serious."
Archuleta's voice is low and unsteady. "So it’s Roy now? Like Grant wasn’t enough?"
Cook frowns. "Not sure what this has to do with Grant."
"He loves you, everyone loves you. I can’t -- I played your games so you could feel alive, so you'd know I wouldn't leave. So you'd see, at last -- " Archuleta's lips are almost blue around the edges. "I can't deal with you any more."
They come to a halt, on the side of the dance floor. Couples spin past them, close and then away.
Cook holds Arch up, his heart breaking. Jareth considers his options. Eventually, what's said is, "Don't need you to ride to my rescue, David. I never needed that."
Somehow, Archuleta gets his legs under him, and takes hold of his own weight.
"I love you so much, but I see that's not what you need; it's not enough," he says, with infinite dignity. "Isn't that stupid? It's not enough for you."
"It'll never be enough," says Cook, and the Goblin King, and for once, there's complete agreement between them - nothing Archuleta could have done by way of rescue would have been sufficient in the darkness of the Labyrinth.
Archuleta is shaking, but dry-eyed. Cook’s thankful; he thinks he might not have been able to do this otherwise. Remembers stupid decisions he'd made a lifetime ago, in the face of Arch's tears, sitting on their kitchen floor, luggage on their doorstep, tearing their hearts out so they could have one last embrace.
"It's over," Archuleta whispers. "I should have known it sooner. I should have said stop."
Arch should leave now, before Jareth starts counting.
Archuleta avoids his eyes as he starts to push past him. Cook reaches out to stop him, pulls Archuleta close. Archuleta closes his eyes and the world falls away.
Someone's talking, Cook's younger self, Jareth, he doesn't know anymore. "I won't come after you. Remember that, when you leave."
Jareth. It's Jareth - and what if Archuleta believes - Cook closes his eyes -
- and Archuleta moves out of his arms, decisively. Cook opens his eyes and watches as Archuleta walks down the hallway.
Archuleta pauses by the threshold of the ballroom door, looks back at Cook for the last time. Cook sees his hand twitch as if in goodbye.
Then Archuleta's gone, and there's nothing more: no more masks, no more Labyrinth, no more weeks or time.
Arch, I didn't mean it. Would you please come back, if I counted to fifty? One.
Arch doesn't hear him, of course. He can't.
And Cook counts, also.
Two, three. Four five six...
In his mind's eye, he fancies he can see his spirit lift, floating, following Archuleta as he leaves, walking briskly, up the corridor, down the long stairs, descending into the sudden freedom of the night.
Eighteen, nineteen, twenty... There's one way Arch will be free forever.
Cook and the Goblin King, floating on a cloud of white. The VIP bathroom is also all white.
There are colors in a small bottle. In his palm, now. They go with the counting.
And Cook continues to count.
Thirty-two, thirty-three...fifty.
The colours, the pills, sliding down his throat. Tasting of nothing at all.
The only way David Archuleta would be free.
You knew it would be over when one of us said stop. But you wouldn't say it.
I almost waited too long. Arch, I'm sorry.
Pain, a sense of constriction from all of his emotions struggling to free themselves, but no tears. A glaring absence of tears. He understands now why that is: Jareth has never wept.
Pain, and then relief. The coolness of the tiled floor under his cheek as darkness sweeps over him like a cloak. Maybe now it'll end.
For some reason, after a while, there's someone's holding him. Grant Delano. Weeping, for some reason, in the way Cook isn’t able to. Perhaps he’s dreaming.
From very far away, the sound of the sirens. “Nothing’s so easy, David.”
It's not so easy, to leave the Labyrinth. As its rightful King, it seems he'll never leave. Nine and a half weeks of love? Not nearly long enough.
3. THE LEAP FROM THE TOWER
Let me love you, let me rescue you.
Let me bring you where two roads meet. Oh come back above
Where there is only love. Only love...
Ever since the tears from Grant Delano, ever since he pushed past Roy on the stairs, ever since he burst in on Cook in the men's room, Archuleta has known the truth.
Dancing in Cook's arms, the Jareth costume flaring around them both, he realizes he'd been deceiving himself these long weeks and months. Grant isn't the evil that Cook needs to be rescued from. Roy isn't.
It's always been the one person, the same person, and Arch doesn't have it in him to blame Cook, but he knows it now: the King has always been here.
"Need to talk to you," Cook tells him casually.
For a second, Archuleta almost loses his courage. Then, "Okay, tell me now."
"You need to leave," Cook says very quietly. "I need for you to leave, Arch."
Archuleta kind of knows it’s coming. Finally, after the games, the pills, it's come to this. "You know I promised you I wouldn't leave. You promised me you'd get the help you need."
Jareth's eyes, glittering and hooded: "That assumes we both keep our promises. I'm not sure it's that good an idea after all."
And there's no readying himself for this. "Is there something going on with Roy?" His voice is shaking; suddenly, he can't see from outrage.
He can't feel his own lips, doesn't know what he's saying, the words spilling out of him. They come to a halt on the side of the dance floor. Couples spin past them, close and then away.
Archuleta is shivering, feels as if he's about to fall. Cook is never going to keep his promise to get help; now it seems Arch isn't even enough for him.
Jareth holds Arch up. His touch is burning.
Eventually, what's said is, "Don't need you to ride to my rescue, David. I never needed that."
Archuleta knows that now. He's been blind for so long, so sure that love could save Cook from Jareth, from becoming Jareth. Now, finally, he gets it: there isn't enough love in the world for that.
Somehow, he gets his legs under him and manages to take hold of himself.
"I love you so much, but I see that's not what you need; it's not enough," he hears himself say. "Isn't that stupid? It's not enough for you."
"It'll never be enough," says Cook, and the Goblin King. It sounds like it's coming from both of them, and the truth of this burns its way down into Archuleta's bones.
"It's over," Archuleta whispers. He knew it would be over when one of them said it. He didn't say it to Cook when he should have, with the last game, thought that it might have made Cook see. He'd been wrong about that, like he'd been wrong about so many things. He'd almost waited too long. "I should have known it sooner. I should have said stop. I'll send someone to pick up my stuff."
I'm sorry, Cook.
Archuleta is gathering his strength when Cook reaches out to stop him, pulls him close. Archuleta closes his eyes for a moment, the world falling away.
For an instant, Archuleta sees the happiness and pleasure of their years past, and the recent long weeks spent together: the darkness of the bar in the West Hollywood studios (I've never stopped loving you), the lattices on their tapestried bed, moonlight streaming over their bodies, the golden weekend in Sonoma under the purple and green of the grape fields (I'm yours, no matter what happens). The younger self which Arch could see in Cook's green eyes, when he thought he could still save Cook from himself.
Arch hesitates, of course (I'll always need you; I can’t live without you).
Someone's saying something, very gently, in that storyteller's voice that speaks to his deepest heart. "I won't come after you. Remember that, when you leave."
And Archuleta also sees the handcuffs, the drugs, the games; sees Roy pushing past him on the stairwell, sees Jareth in the bathroom, shirt open at the neck, surrounded by pills and powder and a Labyrinth of his own making.
And he makes his final choice, after all.
Archuleta jumps, the stars swirling around him - he pulls away, half-running down the corridor, the hallway, the red carpet stairs - lands safely, on his two feet, dry-eyed. Body, courage, essential self, it seems, all intact.
It's a hard, desperate pain, though, that his arms are empty. It makes him stagger, almost fall to his knees, that there's no loved one that he'd managed to save at the end of this quest.
He fights to stay upright; his head is spinning, his throat’s dry. Archuleta realizes he'd never have been able to rescue Cook. It's enough that he tried. He needs to believe that. He knows it'll haunt him for the rest of his life.
He realizes that it was because, despite everything, Cook’s addictions: the drugs, the other men, had come home with them. And although Arch had tried so hard, it had proved impossible - it had been too late to save Cook from himself. In a way, after 2010, it would always have been too late.
He knows there'll be nights that will make him feel life isn’t worth living; knows he needs help to get through them.
Archuleta is clear-eyed when he calls Louisa and asks her to have his belongings removed from Cook's house. He's calm when he calls Dr. Ward, his therapist in Utah, on her private number. He hasn't called her since his divorce; he now tells her he thinks he needs to go somewhere.
She's silent for a while. She doesn't ask the many questions he knows she has.
Then, the one question that matters for now: "Where are you?"
Archuleta looks around him. He's in the VIP driveway of the Los Angeles Globe theatre, round the back exit, far from the intrusive lenses of the paparazzi. Dan has pulled up in the limo, he's waiting for Arch to get in. He'll take Arch wherever he wants to go, away from Cook, towards an unseen future.
Where is he? Arch realizes he's free and clear; realizes he's finally left the Labyrinth.
"I'm getting on a plane," he tells her. "I'm coming home."
In his mind, Archuleta sees the white bird. He watches it spread its wings against the night sky, free at last.
intermission
Master Post : Part One : Part Two : Cut Scene (Warnings) : Part Three : Epilogue
1. THE DANCE
There's such a fooled heart
Beating so fast in search of new dreams
A love that will last within your heart
I'll place the moon within your heart
Bright lights, popping flashbulbs. The premiere for Labyrinth 2015 at the renovated Globe theatre in Hollywood.
Cook stands on the red carpet, wearing a high-necked black jacket that’s cut cunningly against his wide shoulders, that flares like a cape against his knees. Archuleta stands in Armani at his side.
Cook keeps giving the same press sound-bites over and over again: Labyrinth’s classic tale, the triumph of good over evil, so proud and humbled to be standing in Bowie’s shoes. He looks tired, his handsome face gaunt and hollow-cheeked, an exact replica of the Bowie 1986 movie poster, down to the red-rimmed, haunted eyes under the heavy eyeliner.
Archuleta reaches out, puts his hand in Cook's cold one, and is temporarily warmed by Cook's answering, genuine smile.
I've got this. I'm here, Cook.
Cook's entourage fills the red carpet, slowly: spiky blond Roy Mitchell with his multiple ear piercings, his angry blue eyes that stare through Archuleta, brown-haired Jill Harrison, Cook's longtime and loyal assistant, snappy Lynn Siegel, flamboyant in Dolce and Gabanna (Archuleta is surprised he can actually recognize the label; clearly he learned more fashion stuff from Belle and Louisa than he'd thought).
And there's Grant Delano, in his sharp navy pinstripe suit and aviators, neatly combed dark hair, looking more like an Italian banker rather than Cook's manager. Rather than Cook's enabler, pusher, warden to Cook’s prison cell.
Archuleta is used to the chill by now, so he doesn't shiver when Delano stops by them, straightens Cook's silver lapel pin and whispers something in Cook's ear.
Cook nods curtly, and then tells the reporters, "We need to get inside now. Thanks, everyone," and walks down the carpet, drawing Archuleta with him.
They settle into their VIP seats in the movie theatre. One of the producers is giving a hearty welcoming speech.
Further down the aisle, the tiny blonde star of the show waves to Archuleta, radiant in her long silver gown. She's there with an older lady who looks like her mom, with the same fine bone structure and poise, and a tall young man that has new boyfriend written all over him, who kind of glowers at Cook (Archuleta doesn't recognize him, and he doesn't look like a showbiz guy, a little rough and preppy around the edges; maybe he's from Dakota's college).
Cook's nervous, he fidgets a little in his seat beside Archuleta, won't keep hold of his hand. Archuleta knows he's itching to duck out for a private pick-me-up; that he won't do it in front of Jill, but would be considering a side trip to the men's bathroom, so he keeps a firm grip on Cook's fingers, and then the premiere starts.
The movie is fast-paced and fantastic. The state of the art effects are, to Arch's untrained eye, spectacular. Dakota Fanning is phenomenal as Sarah; she'd dyed her hair brunette for the movie, and her dark coiffure makes her beauty translucent, all wide eyes and tremulous courage.
And Cook is every inch the deceptively urbane Goblin King.
Archuleta watches Sarah embark on her brave quest, fighting swamps and lawn-creatures, befriending the denizens of Jareth's kingdom, in order to rescue her brother and to win free of the Labyrinth.
There are the smash cuts to Jareth, alone in his high tower, highlighted against the bizarre purple sky of this land. Cook has less onscreen time than his young co-star, but makes up for it with the scenery-chewing: standing around, gesturing, glowering and gorgeous.
Then there's the central scene in the movie, where Sarah dances with the Goblin King in his glittering ballroom amongst a crowd of partygoers, while Jareth tries with all means at his disposal to dissuade her from her quest.
Archuleta looks across at Cook. His face is pale, in the flickering light of the large screen; his eyes riveted to the movie, where Jareth and Sarah are whirling around and dancing close together.
Finally, they’re at the final climatic scene of the movie, where Sarah faces the ultimate choice and Jareth's knowing eyes.
Jareth leans in, menacing and seductive: “Yes, I can see it in your eyes. No one else has ever made it this far in the Labyrinth, no one else has ever been worthy…”.
Dakota looks like she's no older than sixteen, of course, and like she's been entirely untouched.
Cook says, Jareth says, “I'm no longer interested in having a little goblin prince: I've decided I'd much rather have a queen.”
High in their room, at the top of the Labyrinth’s high tower, Jareth's black cloak blowing across them both, in a hidden storm, Sarah's innocent face flushes for an instant, with desire.
Cook's hand suddenly clasps Arch's in a death grip. His face is impassive, but the desperate clutch of his fingers speaks volumes to Archuleta.
Cook, I'm here.
And then Sarah makes her choice, the white bird flies to her shoulder. Her courage drives Jareth to his knees; alone, he watches as she makes her daring rescue, and leaps off the tower with the baby in her arms.
There's Sarah's reunion with her family in the real world, and then the screen goes dark.
The applause around them rings kind of tepid to Archuleta's ears. Archuleta lets Cook's hand go in order to applaud loyally, wildly - he thinks the movie was fantastic, the effects were fantastic, his movie star boyfriend is fantastic.
Dakota is smiling her brilliant smile, and stands and waves to the crowd. As the house lights come up, Cook looks as if he's about to be sick. His eyes are bloodshot, and there are lines around his mouth.
Archuleta puts his arms around Cook's waist as he gets to his feet. "You okay?" he murmurs, in Cook's ear.
Cook relaxes in Archuleta's arms for a second, rests his cheek against Arch's hair. "Think so," he murmurs, and then, standing straight, he puts his shoulders back, cocks his head ironically, and waves to the audience in his turn.
"Congratulations, Mr. Cook," says one of the producers to them, leans over to shake hands. "Premiere party in ten, all right? Miss Fanning, hope that's okay with you," he adds; Dakota smiles at him and they all file along obediently, Tristar ushers along the way to guide them to the private ballroom at the back of the theatre.
Archuleta keeps a tight hold on Cook's hand as they walk through the murmuring crowd, following Dakota and her entourage. He can feel the tension in Cook's fingers, which is suddenly made far worse when he passes a snatch of muttered conversation: ”Give it a couple'a weeks, straight to DVD", and he sees Cook's face go very still.
"It's okay," Archuleta whispers fiercely, and Cook doesn't break his stride, walking on stiffly, head held high.
They reach the threshold of the ballroom and Cook instantly becomes all affable charm, smiling at the bigwigs lining the doorway to speak to their big star.
Archuleta looks around the ballroom from his vantage point at Cook’s side. It's done up in a replica of the Labyrinth ballroom scene set: glittering chandelier, mirrors on the walls, old-fashioned jazz band, waiters in medieval costume. The buffet table is a little incongruous, but you can't sacrifice style for comfort, even in Hollywood.
Cook is still talking, being deliberately charming to the suits. Archuleta hovers close: he's not letting Cook out of his sight tonight, he knows how close the temptation is when Cook is like this.
Cook notices the hovering and makes a small, shooing grimace which Archuleta ignores. Cook narrows his eyes and mutters, "Don't need a babysitter, David. C'mon, you have better things to do."
Stung by this, Archuleta takes a step away, almost knocking over one of the tray-carrying waiters.
A strong hand reaches his arm, steadying him, and he looks up into the narrow face of Grant Delano.
"Archie."
Delano's voice is as warm and deliberately accommodating as it has always been; of course, Archuleta isn't taken in by this for an instant. He looks warily at the man who has for five years held Cook in thrall to the magic pills and powder, who has turned Cook into this shadow of his former self.
"Grant." He doesn't make the preamble or niceties any more - he knows Grant now, and you can't be expected to make polite conversation with the true Goblin King.
Delano frowns at Arch’s curtness. He looks at his hand on Archuleta's arm, as if considering taking it away, as if considering something else as well. Then he says to Archuleta, "Will you walk with me a while?"
Archuleta holds himself stiffly, allows Delano to guide him slowly across the room, although his body feels the cold of Delano's fingers through the stiff fabric of his jacket.
They walk across the edge of the dance floor. Already there are couples dancing to the live band, probably some professional dancers hired by the studio, as well as a few executives and their trophy husbands or wives who had taken ballroom dancing classes. Delano and Archuleta watch them spin past, bright colors and dark, under the chandelier, like a replica of the fantastical masqued ball in the heart of the Labyrinth.
They come to a stop in a secluded corner of the ballroom, in a good line-of-sight to the entrance where Cook is lingering with the execs.
Archuleta's waiting for Delano to speak, since it was Delano who sought him out. For some reason, Delano seems hesitant, taking his hand away from Archuleta's arm to fiddle with the seam of his jacket, the sharp crease of his trouser leg.
Finally, Delano says, "Arch, I wanted to talk to you about David. I'm a little worried about him."
Archuleta tries not to choke on the irony of this statement. But clearly, it's what evil does: it wears a mask of empathy, of understanding.
He can play the game as well. "Sorry, what's the problem?"
"I think you know," Delano says softly, looking over Archuleta's shoulder, and Archuleta follows his gaze, to where Cook is still holding forth, all expansive arm movements and grandiose gestures.
Archuleta's heart hurts: Cook's so clearly putting on a show. He knows how Cook’s bound to be smarting from the casual remarks they’d heard, from thoughts of the negative Labyrinth reviews, after all his hard work.
Cook’s likely to be even more desperate to escape to the clarity of the powder, the calm of the pills. Cook’s eyes, even across the room, look lost in a labyrinth of his own making.
He’s about to head over to Cook’s side, damn the crack about the babysitting, when he sees David Bowie walk over to Cook, tall and still dashing, wearing an outfit which the stylists have obviously picked for him to wear tonight because it subtly mirrors Cook’s.
Cook takes the older man’s hand, and smiles his first genuine smile of the evening. Bowie leans over and whispers in Cook’s ear.
Delano's voice, in Archuleta's own ear. "I would only say this to you, Arch. David’s out of control. I’m not sure what can be done. I was actually hoping you had some ideas.”
“Me?” Archuleta does in fact choke at the man’s audacity. He stares at Delano, who is looking, fixedly, over at Cook.
“Yes. You're the only one that keeps him grounded, the only one whom he’ll listen to.”
Well, at least Delano has this right. “I love him, I want the best for him,” says Archuleta, very simply; he isn't afraid to admit this even to Delano.
At this, Delano turns to look at Archuleta, something complex flaring in his narrow face. “I know, and I know he knows that - and what’s best for him, after the promos for Labyrinth and AV are over, is to take a break, maybe go away to a clinic.”
“I agree." Arch doesn't want to remember the pills, the games. (Do you love me? Then, swallow.) “And he promised me...he promised me he would. After tonight's premiere."
And why it is that he's talking to the Goblin King about this, he has no idea.
Delano bows his head, exhales slowly. “Good. I was afraid he wouldn't go. You have no idea, Arch.”
Archuleta doesn't understand that conflicted tone in Delano's voice; he has no right to sound so defeated. The outrage that has been bubbling under his skin for weeks and months now rises uncontrollably to the surface. “You’re unbelievable.”
Delano looks at him, eyes a little glazed. “Excuse me?”
The words tumble furiously out of Archuleta. “You did this to him. This is your fault. Do you seriously think it wouldn’t have come to this?”
Does Delano seriously think that he could have kept feeding the pills and powder to Cook, and still have a handle on things? Of course Cook was going to veer out of control, was going to distrust even the people who loved him, was going to play mind-games... Archuleta doesn't want to think about this, he can't do this now, he has to stay strong, in the face of evil.
Arch balls his hands into fists, glares at Delano, who is still staring at him, mouth open, as if he's grown two heads, and perhaps he has, figuratively. This is his enemy, Cook's enemy, to which no mercy should be shown.
And he throws the gauntlet in Delano's face. "I could have gone to the cops. I could have, but it would come back to Cook, and I wouldn’t risk that.”
Delano's narrow face, defeated and glazed, flinching as if Archuleta's words are blows.
When Arch stops speaking, breathing heavily despite himself, Delano looks away as if he's going to throw up.
His voice is very soft when he says, “I tried to do what was best for him, too.”
And then he puts a hand over his face, and, oh, he's crying - stoic, urbane Grant Delano, who has never previously shown any emotion in front of Archuleta, standing on the side of the ballroom in this public place, one hand over his eyes, narrow face crumpled like paper.
Arch is paralyzed. He has the insane urge to reach out to Delano, to comfort him, this man who is the reason for Cook's illness. Curbing the urge is surprisingly difficult.
Eventually, Delano exhausts himself, takes his hand away. His wet face is open and miserable, all masks set aside tonight.
And what he says, in a voice that shakes with emotion, is, “I’ve loved him for such a long time. I never thought things would turn out like this.”
Archuleta can't believe this. He's struck to the core by the tears, this searing declaration of love.
Now the floodgates are open, though, it seems Delano can't stop himself, the words spilling out like a rush of blood. "I'm not sure when he started on the coke. I’m not sure where he’s getting it from.”
Archuleta can't keep up with these revelations. “I thought it was from you.”
Delano shakes his head, blearily. “I don’t blame you." He rubs his hands over his face, in a strange echo of Cook's own gesture. It looks frightening and sad on him. "You’re right, I started this. I gave him pills to help him with the pain, and I didn’t stop.”
Archuleta stares at Delano, and feels as if he's falling, there's no solid ground under his feet. It’s impossible to imagine evil in this guise, in tears, with so much love and hopelessness in his face.
Maybe Grant isn’t the Goblin King.
Delano looks up and they gaze at each other for a long instant. Arch feels as if he's staring into a dark mirror, seeing a twisted simulacrum of his own bottomless love for Cook reflected in Delano's green eyes.
Then Delano's gaze shifts, his brows knit. Arch looks in that direction, back at where Cook and Bowie had been standing and conversing. Bowie's still there, talking to some of the executives, but Cook - Cook is gone.
Arch's heart leaps into his mouth. Leaving Delano, he's weaving past people on the dance floor, pushing through the throng, to get to the men's room. Cook isn't there.
Archuleta backs up, tries the stalls in the hallway. No luck. Where are you.
He breaks out into a run, back to the adjoining VIP theatre. The door's not locked, the theatre dark and deserted. The stairwell is lit up, though.
Archuleta starts up the stairs.
And freezes when he rounds the landing and sees Roy, blond and scowling, coming down, hair standing on end, adjusting his clothes.
Roy stops when he sees Archuleta as well, and opens his mouth to say something, but Arch pushes past him, taking the rest of the steps two at a time.
The men's room is at the top of the stairs.
Arch shoves at the door, as if he expects it to be locked, but it isn't, and he barrels in like a madman.
Cook is leaning against the marble sink. The foil papers and remnants of powder are scattered around him, his jacket is askew, his shirt more open at the throat than it had been fifteen minutes ago.
He runs a hand through his beautifully coiffed hair, which uncannily stays in place.
"Baby," he murmurs without any surprise whatsoever. Archuleta can hardly look at him. Red, glittering eyes, red nose, hard lines around his mouth - he's almost unrecognizable.
Or rather, Arch does recognize him - that hooded expression filled with intent, gaunt cheekbones, hungry mouth. Jareth.
"Ran into Roy coming down the stairs," Archuleta says, in a shaking voice he recognizes, too.
Cook shrugs, but a shadow passes over his face. "Roy thinks he knows lots of things," he says. One hand sweeps the papers and debris to the floor, missing the trash can narrowly. "Shit." His eyes flicker to Arch's, nervousness and dissembling warring with each other in his expression.
Archuleta's heart aches so much he can hardly speak. "You promised not to do this," he breathes, and Cook shakes his head.
"It's nothing, babe. I just needed to get my head on straight."
Arch keeps looking at him, although it is so difficult - the glittering eyes don't belong to the man he loves, still loves.
"I love you," he whispers, though he's not sure who it is that hears him.
Cook's mouth softens, and Arch sees he can still reach him, just about. Whether he'll always be able to do that is the question.
"I know," says Cook, quietly. "It's what keeps me sane."
Is this sanity? wonders Arch, as he watches Cook rub a hand over his face, then shed the skin of the vulnerable man and stand up straight, tall and commanding, cloaked in the glamour of the Goblin King.
It's Jareth who reaches a hand out to Arch.
"Shall we get back? I'd like to dance at my party."
There's endless night in the eyes of the Goblin King.
Archuleta is fascinated by this realization. Appalled by it as well, of course. How it is that he's been blind for this long.
The King has always been here.
A glittering ballroom, Sarah dancing; a high white tower, Sarah making her choice.
Arch takes the outstretched white hand.
"Okay, let's dance," he tells the Goblin King.
*
2. LAST SCENE
no, I can't escape
I'm a slave to love
Cook is standing in the ballroom at the premiere of his movie, chatting with an endless row of movie execs and showbiz suits.
The sea of falsely smiling faces makes him sick. The shiny, disingenuous eyes, lying voices that tell him the things he wants to hear; he sees, under the pink, pristine skin, the grinning teeth, the white skulls. He's seized with the desire to claw the flesh off the masks, until there is no more pretence.
Actually, come to think of it, he also wants to claw the skin of his own face, and not stop until he reaches bone.
The thing that stops him is Bowie. Hail, Bowie, King of Davids: the only true. Blue eyes, that see all the way to the heart of him.
There's the look that says: I see into your darkness, lad. That says: You’ve inherited the Labyrinth; you’re mired there, in a maze of your own making. That says: I hope you find your way clear without taking anyone else down with you.
He's holding Bowie's hand like it's a lifeline, and for an instant Bowie grips back, leans in and presses his lips to Cook's.
It's a brief, but surprisingly sensual kiss. Something passes between them. If only Cook can figure what it is, maybe he'll understand, maybe he'll regain his equilibrium and discover how to stand upright in the world that's full of pain and love and a lack thereof.
But then Bowie's called away, leaves him with Good luck, and Cook is floundering, falling; he needs to get away.
Roy's there, and there's a cloud of white, to encompass him, to catch him.
Then, Cook knows exactly how he feels. He's sharp, incisive, entirely here. He's treading the knife's edge of consciousness like a whetted blade. He wears his Jareth coat like it's a mantle. King David: that's his rubric now. Bowie was passing the torch. It's now up to him.
For some reason, Roy is gone, and David Archuleta is in the room instead.
He looks at the one man he loves, he's always loved.
For an instant, he sees himself through Archuleta's eyes: his shirt open at the neck, where Roy's fingers have been; the foil papers and remnants of powder scattered around him. He's sure his eyes and nose are red from breathing in the white.
He tries to get rid of the papers, to sweep everything away with his hand; still thinks maybe he can fool Arch, try to pretend everything's good between them, that he's not...
…He tries to sweep the evidence away with one hand, aiming for the trash. Ah, damn: he misses. These days, he misses far too often. This entire damn movie was a miss.
"I love you," Arch tells him; for an instant he believes it, remembers pills, Arch swallowing from love. Yes, Arch loves him; had been willing to risk many things for him.
Arch's eyes are dark and worried and a little despairing. Too much love there, maybe. He's not sure he can handle this in this moment, he's still too close to the edge, to the realization that, that.... No.
He needs more clarity; needs to be invulnerable, the man that never misses, needs to be King Jareth.
Then, he sees himself, through Arch's eyes, through everybody's: shedding weakness, uncertainty. Standing up straight, tall and commanding, cloaked in the glamour of the Goblin King.
He (Jareth) reaches a hand out to Arch.
"Shall we get back? I'd like to dance at my party."
And Arch puts his hand in his and says, all Bowie-like, "Let's dance."
They return to the ballroom, in the heart of the Labyrinth. Cook feels dizzy, for an instant, like he's back on the New York movie set, in this exact same configuration. Mirrors, chandeliers, dancers in bizarre costumes. The world falling down.
The thronging crowd press around him, the people, his people.
He's strong now, still sees the skulls under the smiling faces, but this doesn't rock him any more. King Jareth sees the eventual death of all things, of life and love, and it makes him even more certain of his path.
He keeps firm hold of Arch's hand and steers Arch onto the dance floor.
Archuleta in his arms. His love, his one true. His at last and forever. Here in his labyrinth, where it's safe. The world could fall down and they'd still be here.
Arch... He sees the dark shadows under Arch's eyes. He's struck by how lost they are.
He's dancing with Archuleta, trying to pretend everything's good between them, that he's not incrementally undermining everything that's good between them, that he's not... No.
He sees, now. Sees himself as the others around him see him: tall and handsome, always in control. He's able to command love and loyalty from his people, from Archuleta, who hasn't left him like Jareth's Sarah had done in the movie. Who's stayed by his side, despite everything he's done.
And maybe it’s some trick of the light, or the false high of the powder, but he sees himself then: Cook, the man before the colors, who stood free and clear against the world. Loving, bleeding, all he ever needed was his music, and the love of one man.
And when he couldn't have him those years ago, he decided to destroy himself in the maelstrom of colors, the comfort of white.
Did he think he could have regained this younger self, now Arch had come back? Didn't he think all he'd needed had been Archie's love?
The younger Cook's eyes are full of purpose: he's here to bring a message to the Goblin King.
He can't save you.
Excuse me, Jareth says. You have no place in my kingdom. You're weak and miserable, and Archuleta was right to leave you five years ago.
Yeah, says the younger Cook. And you've become so weak and miserable that you've made sure Archuleta will never leave again. That last game? I can't believe even you would do that to him.
Did you ever love him? Do you even care? You need to send him away, now, before he loses himself forever with you in the Labyrinth.
Jareth stares into the eyes of this younger self: filled with time and pain, and condemnation.
Cook stares into the eyes of his younger self, and the enormity of the weeks and months with Arch, trying to shield their relationship from a storm of snow, of colors, crashes into him.
Suddenly there's nowhere to hide.
He's been trying to pretend he hasn't been ... hasn't been doing his best to break Archuleta down, incrementally, with the games. To keep him here, bound in velvet restraints, in the darkness of the Labyrinth. The last game, Arch had thought the worst of Cook. And still he'd stayed -- what had Cook done --
He pretends... there's no pretense any more. Younger Cook's green eyes become Archuleta's brown ones, filled with the same time, the same pain. He needs to work on the condemnation part.
It shouldn't be hard.
(You need to send him away. Now.)
"Need to talk to you," he tells Arch.
"It'll keep till we get home," says Archuleta.
"It'll be too late when we get home." It's too late now. After Archuleta left, that first time, it’s always been too late.
"Tell me now, then," and Archuleta tilts his face up to Cook's. He's so sad, so beautiful, Cook almost loses his nerve. Feels Jareth rise up inside, laughing at his weakness.
"You need to leave," Cook says, very quietly. "I need for you to leave, Arch."
Archuleta looks calm and unsurprised. "Kind of thought this might be coming," he says, and continues dancing, turning on the dance floor, held securely in Cook's arms. "You know I promised you I wouldn't leave. Not after you promised me you'd get the help you need."
I thought we could do this. I never counted on loving you so much.
Cook can't do this by himself: I never counted on you loving me so much.
The final pretense: he lets Jareth rise.
"That assumes we both keep our promises," he drawls, and Archuleta's face slowly drains of colour. "I'm not sure it's that good an idea, after all."
Archuleta can't talk for a second. Then, "Is there something going on with Roy?" His hands clench on Cook's upper arms. "Suddenly I'm not enough? Is that it?"
Cook doesn't know, Jareth doesn't know; torn between cruelty and the need to make Archuleta see.
Cook knows he'd pushed Roy away. Jareth knows this is the thing that will finally break Archu. And so, both of them say to Archuleta: "Roy has wanted to be with me for a while, I might have let him fool around, it's nothing serious."
Archuleta's voice is low and unsteady. "So it’s Roy now? Like Grant wasn’t enough?"
Cook frowns. "Not sure what this has to do with Grant."
"He loves you, everyone loves you. I can’t -- I played your games so you could feel alive, so you'd know I wouldn't leave. So you'd see, at last -- " Archuleta's lips are almost blue around the edges. "I can't deal with you any more."
They come to a halt, on the side of the dance floor. Couples spin past them, close and then away.
Cook holds Arch up, his heart breaking. Jareth considers his options. Eventually, what's said is, "Don't need you to ride to my rescue, David. I never needed that."
Somehow, Archuleta gets his legs under him, and takes hold of his own weight.
"I love you so much, but I see that's not what you need; it's not enough," he says, with infinite dignity. "Isn't that stupid? It's not enough for you."
"It'll never be enough," says Cook, and the Goblin King, and for once, there's complete agreement between them - nothing Archuleta could have done by way of rescue would have been sufficient in the darkness of the Labyrinth.
Archuleta is shaking, but dry-eyed. Cook’s thankful; he thinks he might not have been able to do this otherwise. Remembers stupid decisions he'd made a lifetime ago, in the face of Arch's tears, sitting on their kitchen floor, luggage on their doorstep, tearing their hearts out so they could have one last embrace.
"It's over," Archuleta whispers. "I should have known it sooner. I should have said stop."
Arch should leave now, before Jareth starts counting.
Archuleta avoids his eyes as he starts to push past him. Cook reaches out to stop him, pulls Archuleta close. Archuleta closes his eyes and the world falls away.
Someone's talking, Cook's younger self, Jareth, he doesn't know anymore. "I won't come after you. Remember that, when you leave."
Jareth. It's Jareth - and what if Archuleta believes - Cook closes his eyes -
- and Archuleta moves out of his arms, decisively. Cook opens his eyes and watches as Archuleta walks down the hallway.
Archuleta pauses by the threshold of the ballroom door, looks back at Cook for the last time. Cook sees his hand twitch as if in goodbye.
Then Archuleta's gone, and there's nothing more: no more masks, no more Labyrinth, no more weeks or time.
Arch, I didn't mean it. Would you please come back, if I counted to fifty? One.
Arch doesn't hear him, of course. He can't.
And Cook counts, also.
Two, three. Four five six...
In his mind's eye, he fancies he can see his spirit lift, floating, following Archuleta as he leaves, walking briskly, up the corridor, down the long stairs, descending into the sudden freedom of the night.
Eighteen, nineteen, twenty... There's one way Arch will be free forever.
Cook and the Goblin King, floating on a cloud of white. The VIP bathroom is also all white.
There are colors in a small bottle. In his palm, now. They go with the counting.
And Cook continues to count.
Thirty-two, thirty-three...fifty.
The colours, the pills, sliding down his throat. Tasting of nothing at all.
The only way David Archuleta would be free.
You knew it would be over when one of us said stop. But you wouldn't say it.
I almost waited too long. Arch, I'm sorry.
Pain, a sense of constriction from all of his emotions struggling to free themselves, but no tears. A glaring absence of tears. He understands now why that is: Jareth has never wept.
Pain, and then relief. The coolness of the tiled floor under his cheek as darkness sweeps over him like a cloak. Maybe now it'll end.
For some reason, after a while, there's someone's holding him. Grant Delano. Weeping, for some reason, in the way Cook isn’t able to. Perhaps he’s dreaming.
From very far away, the sound of the sirens. “Nothing’s so easy, David.”
It's not so easy, to leave the Labyrinth. As its rightful King, it seems he'll never leave. Nine and a half weeks of love? Not nearly long enough.
3. THE LEAP FROM THE TOWER
Let me love you, let me rescue you.
Let me bring you where two roads meet. Oh come back above
Where there is only love. Only love...
Ever since the tears from Grant Delano, ever since he pushed past Roy on the stairs, ever since he burst in on Cook in the men's room, Archuleta has known the truth.
Dancing in Cook's arms, the Jareth costume flaring around them both, he realizes he'd been deceiving himself these long weeks and months. Grant isn't the evil that Cook needs to be rescued from. Roy isn't.
It's always been the one person, the same person, and Arch doesn't have it in him to blame Cook, but he knows it now: the King has always been here.
"Need to talk to you," Cook tells him casually.
For a second, Archuleta almost loses his courage. Then, "Okay, tell me now."
"You need to leave," Cook says very quietly. "I need for you to leave, Arch."
Archuleta kind of knows it’s coming. Finally, after the games, the pills, it's come to this. "You know I promised you I wouldn't leave. You promised me you'd get the help you need."
Jareth's eyes, glittering and hooded: "That assumes we both keep our promises. I'm not sure it's that good an idea after all."
And there's no readying himself for this. "Is there something going on with Roy?" His voice is shaking; suddenly, he can't see from outrage.
He can't feel his own lips, doesn't know what he's saying, the words spilling out of him. They come to a halt on the side of the dance floor. Couples spin past them, close and then away.
Archuleta is shivering, feels as if he's about to fall. Cook is never going to keep his promise to get help; now it seems Arch isn't even enough for him.
Jareth holds Arch up. His touch is burning.
Eventually, what's said is, "Don't need you to ride to my rescue, David. I never needed that."
Archuleta knows that now. He's been blind for so long, so sure that love could save Cook from Jareth, from becoming Jareth. Now, finally, he gets it: there isn't enough love in the world for that.
Somehow, he gets his legs under him and manages to take hold of himself.
"I love you so much, but I see that's not what you need; it's not enough," he hears himself say. "Isn't that stupid? It's not enough for you."
"It'll never be enough," says Cook, and the Goblin King. It sounds like it's coming from both of them, and the truth of this burns its way down into Archuleta's bones.
"It's over," Archuleta whispers. He knew it would be over when one of them said it. He didn't say it to Cook when he should have, with the last game, thought that it might have made Cook see. He'd been wrong about that, like he'd been wrong about so many things. He'd almost waited too long. "I should have known it sooner. I should have said stop. I'll send someone to pick up my stuff."
I'm sorry, Cook.
Archuleta is gathering his strength when Cook reaches out to stop him, pulls him close. Archuleta closes his eyes for a moment, the world falling away.
For an instant, Archuleta sees the happiness and pleasure of their years past, and the recent long weeks spent together: the darkness of the bar in the West Hollywood studios (I've never stopped loving you), the lattices on their tapestried bed, moonlight streaming over their bodies, the golden weekend in Sonoma under the purple and green of the grape fields (I'm yours, no matter what happens). The younger self which Arch could see in Cook's green eyes, when he thought he could still save Cook from himself.
Arch hesitates, of course (I'll always need you; I can’t live without you).
Someone's saying something, very gently, in that storyteller's voice that speaks to his deepest heart. "I won't come after you. Remember that, when you leave."
And Archuleta also sees the handcuffs, the drugs, the games; sees Roy pushing past him on the stairwell, sees Jareth in the bathroom, shirt open at the neck, surrounded by pills and powder and a Labyrinth of his own making.
And he makes his final choice, after all.
Archuleta jumps, the stars swirling around him - he pulls away, half-running down the corridor, the hallway, the red carpet stairs - lands safely, on his two feet, dry-eyed. Body, courage, essential self, it seems, all intact.
It's a hard, desperate pain, though, that his arms are empty. It makes him stagger, almost fall to his knees, that there's no loved one that he'd managed to save at the end of this quest.
He fights to stay upright; his head is spinning, his throat’s dry. Archuleta realizes he'd never have been able to rescue Cook. It's enough that he tried. He needs to believe that. He knows it'll haunt him for the rest of his life.
He realizes that it was because, despite everything, Cook’s addictions: the drugs, the other men, had come home with them. And although Arch had tried so hard, it had proved impossible - it had been too late to save Cook from himself. In a way, after 2010, it would always have been too late.
He knows there'll be nights that will make him feel life isn’t worth living; knows he needs help to get through them.
Archuleta is clear-eyed when he calls Louisa and asks her to have his belongings removed from Cook's house. He's calm when he calls Dr. Ward, his therapist in Utah, on her private number. He hasn't called her since his divorce; he now tells her he thinks he needs to go somewhere.
She's silent for a while. She doesn't ask the many questions he knows she has.
Then, the one question that matters for now: "Where are you?"
Archuleta looks around him. He's in the VIP driveway of the Los Angeles Globe theatre, round the back exit, far from the intrusive lenses of the paparazzi. Dan has pulled up in the limo, he's waiting for Arch to get in. He'll take Arch wherever he wants to go, away from Cook, towards an unseen future.
Where is he? Arch realizes he's free and clear; realizes he's finally left the Labyrinth.
"I'm getting on a plane," he tells her. "I'm coming home."
In his mind, Archuleta sees the white bird. He watches it spread its wings against the night sky, free at last.
intermission
Master Post : Part One : Part Two : Cut Scene (Warnings) : Part Three : Epilogue