Fic: Something Blue, Cook/Archuleta, [R]
Something Blue
Cook/Archuleta, [R], 7,000+ words.
After AIRN’s decade of love and loss, the Davids finally tie their lives together, though their happiness is, as always, colored by something blue.
Commissioned art by imlikat - some images NSFW.
i. Something Old:
Til I'm Blue - Where We've Been
2018: It's supposed to be the happiest day of his life, but David Archuleta isn’t feeling it right now.
He's sitting in the den of Cook's mom's house, creasing his formal dress pants. His eyes are closed. His mouth is full of the sharp taste of salt and restraint.
In his ears...his ears are filled with the sound of Cook's rich, nuanced voice, that speaks to him like nothing else will ever do in life.
And what this recording of Cook is singing (With your hands just as cold as mine, we could rest for a while) is the searing claustrophobic song that Arch hates, about being dead in the ground, and waiting for his lover to join him.
(When they put me in the ground, I want you to be there waiting.)
In his mind's eye, Arch sees Cook, his hazel eyes cool like stones, his cold, still face. The sickness that he's battled for so long, claiming his body.
(Would you follow me to heaven? Would you follow me to hell? Would you leave this world for me and a wooden coat?)
Arch can't breathe. He feels the earth pressing in on him, smells the damp grass. In his mind’s eye his new husband lying silent in funereal finery, encased in beech-wood.
(When there’s no one else around, we could be together
We won’t make a sound as long as they won’t let us
Maybe the truth will illuminate the way to be, the way to be)
Arch exhales fiercely and opens his eyes, sees Cook on the suspended TV screen in an old concert recording from the Heroes tour eight years ago. The tagline onscreen says that this is the recording from their Madrid concert, only a couple of weeks after Arch had left him in 2010 in a hotel room in Paris.
The Spanish summer evening backlights him in blue. Cook has a surgical plaster on one cheek, over a wound Arch had clawed into his skin. His eyes are a wasteland.
(Where we be, we’ve come so far
Where did I go astray from you?)
Arch can remember those weeks in sharp detail; can likely recall, if he puts his mind to it, what he'd been doing at the precise moment Cook had sung that song in Madrid - probably lying in bed in Brooke's room, staring numbly at the by-then-familiar shadows across the ceiling, wondering where their lives had gone so badly off course.
Cook's singing this song as if he means it, and likely he does. There's a universe of self-loathing in his eyes that marks the start of Cook's fall into addiction, into endless night.
What's making Arch cry is the way Cook looks onscreen - not quite thirty, impossibly young and beautiful, before the drugs and sickness had set in. There aren’t enough tears for the years they'd spent astray from each other.
(Where we be, we’ve come so far
I think I’ll just hold my breath ‘til I’m blue.)
The first time Arch had heard this song, when he was eighteen and newly in love, he'd asked himself whether he'd be prepared to lie in the ground with Cook? And he'd answered yes to this, yes to will you be there waiting, with your hands so cold in mine we could rest for a while.
It frightened Arch then, horrifies him now ten years on. He has a child, he knows he can't indulge in this sort of extravagance any more, but he's not sure he can help the way he feels.
He never wants Cook to leave him. He's not sure he can live without him again.
He knew Cook was sick when he'd asked Cook to marry him. He was clear-eyed about what that meant: that they needed to make use of whatever time they had left, to love each other.
And, because Cook is sick... because Cook is sick, he knows that he'll have to leave Cook in the ground before his time.
(We’ve come so far)
(We’ve come so far)
He knows, also, in this searing moment that despite the distance he's come, despite even his darling Jamie, he'd give anything to settle in beside Cook and take Cook's square, beautiful hands in his, and close his eyes to rest.
He's sitting there full of thoughts of death and cold and final rest, when arms circle him and someone presses a kiss into his shoulder.
A reminder that that final day's not today.
"Hey, are we watching old videos? Someone said there was a wedding going on today."
Arch turns around and leans into Cook's embrace.
The happiest day of his life; he's going to tie his life to Cook's, and for some reason he's holding his breath till he's blue.
He exhales unsteadily. Cook kisses his wet face, rubs his tears away, doesn't say anything more, just holds on. Cook knows as well as he does that their happiness is never going to be unqualified, that their bliss always going to be adulterated, like Cook is always going to crave the taste of blue.
Archuleta wishes that wasn't so. But wishing is never going to change their world.
In any case, in this moment, loving Cook so desperately, feeling complete in Cook's arms despite everything, Arch wouldn't exchange this reality for another - the pain in their past makes the happiness in their present so much more treasured; their future that much more precious, for all that it could be unexpectedly cut short.
"Okay," says Archuleta, finally. "I'm good. Let's go get married," and Cook's answering smile lights up the room.
*
ii. Something Borrowed:
The Blue Pill - A Time for All Things
Cook's elegant in Tom Ford, standing in the vaulted doorway of the Foraker family church, wishing he could have a stiff drink, or that he'd taken up smoking. His agent, Lynn Siegel, had told him smoking would be hell on his complexion, though, and God knows Cook needs all the help he can get.
Maybe if he stands downwind from his best man’s cigarette, he'll get a secondhand high.
Neal must be the worst best man in the world. Cook hasn't been a groom before, but he has the vague impression that the best man is supposed to fuss over him and make encouraging noises and generally be a steadying influence.
Instead, it's Lynn and his assistant Jill and a couple of stylists who are busy last-minute-clucking over him, trying to make sure his hair doesn't collapse under its own weight, and that his bow tie is neatly draped and that his necklaces don't strangle him; it's all seriously setting Cook's teeth on edge.
And Neal is just leaning against the doorway to the main sanctuary, careless in his matching tux, blowing serene smoke rings into the sky. Nobody's drinking in front of Cook these days, but Cook's willing to bet that Neal has a small flask of something in his breast pocket, nestled beside the rings.
For an instant, Cook's palms itch: what he wouldn't give for a shot of Jack.
Okay, it wouldn't do to show up to his wedding plastered. Come to think of it, it wouldn't be very considerate to his new husband to be to show up smelling of cigarette smoke, either, but he doesn't think Arch would be too concerned about these things. If it came to that, he figured Arch would think anything would be preferable to a spouse that was about to climb the walls with nervousness.
Of course, what Cook really craves, beyond alcohol and nicotine, is the taste of blue. A taste that’ll calm him, that’ll sweep all pain and nerves away in its undertow, and with it, of course, his hard-won sobriety. Cook knows he'll always crave the blue, but knowing it doesn't make this any easier, especially at a time like this.
Maybe Cook should concentrate on other things. The cloudy bells tolling above them, the serene midday sky, the high white spires. The sound of the choir inside, being put through their paces by Andy Skib and Lupe Archuleta. From the sounds of things, his band-mate and his prospective mother in law are giving Pastor Mike's choir a pretty hard time.
Lynn is babbling on about the lighting guys and the photographer from People Magazine; some girls from the agency are setting up the reception table. Neal continues to smoke contemplatively. Cook watches as a limo pulls up the long driveway and decants the key members of the Cook-Foraker clan onto the church steps: his mom, in a huge blue hat trimmed with wildflowers, his sister-in-law Kendra, his little brother Drew, and his nephew and niece in their pageboy and flower girl best.
"Hey, guys!" Cook bends and opens his arms for the kids, careless of the line of his dress trousers, and as one, his stylists groan.
His mom kisses him distractedly. "You look nice, honey. The flowers, are they all here -?" She sweeps into the church with purpose and church attendants scramble to get out of her way.
Drew manages to pry their nephew and niece off Cook. "Where is everyone? What are you guys still doing out here?"
"The Doctor needs to mainline his daily nicotine," says Cook, and Neal rolls his eyes and stubs out his cigarette.
"It isn't me. Seems Ben Affleck needs the natural light for his last minute touch-up."
"That's it, we're done here," says Cook, a little more sharply than he'd intended, and the stylists abruptly stop their fussing.
Jill gives Cook a neutral look, and Cook exhales sharply. "Sorry, just nerves. Look, let's go inside, okay?"
Jill grimaces. Cook doesn't mistake the look Drew and Neal exchange over his head, either.
He's not losing it. He's going to be fine. Turning on his heel, shaking off the attentions of the stylists, he stalks off into the church, leaving everyone to follow in his wake.
It is darker in the old church with its inlaid stone walls and graceful stained glass windows. The pews are adorned with bright summer flowers in their wedding colors of white and dark blue: calla lilies and irises, flowers which his mom loves, and he knows Arch does too.
At the end of the aisle, Pastor Mike's waiting for them in his Episcopalian robes of office.
"David, how are we feeling?"
Cook clasps his pastor's hand. "Nervous as hell, and this close to jumping into the car and eloping to Vegas."
"It would break your mother's heart, and your mom in law’s! And, you know, I would be a little upset, too." Pastor Mike is laughing. "Seriously, try not to stress out too much, okay? This doesn't need to be perfect. You have the rest of your lives to get everything right."
There's sudden tightness in Cook's throat. Great, he doesn't need to start crying even before the service begins. Pastor Mike has always understood him. Arch and he could have gotten married in their home church in La Jolla, but he'd wanted to tie his life to Arch's here in Blue Springs, in the church where Andrew got married, and where Cook had taken his first tentative steps back to God and to Archuleta himself.
Pastor Mike turns to field a question from Beth, and the Cook brothers squint at the people starting to wander into the church - there are a couple of relatives, the Peeks, Drew's wife Claire and the youngest addition to the Cook clan, baby Adam.
At the sight of his little boy, Drew breaks out into his biggest proud-daddy smile. "There's my kid! Hey, I'm gonna go to deal with the guests. You stay - might as well freak out in here, where less people can see you. I'll tell People Magazine you're in front."
Cook sits, obediently, and his entourage disperses, leaving him blessedly alone for a second, near the front of the church.
David Cook, groom for the day, looks up at the dome overhead, the celebratory linen across the communion table, the simple lines of the Episcopalian cross, echoing the diamond cross around Cook's own neck, and feels a sort of peace descend.
This is the day his life starts again, for real this time. A clean slate, a second chance, for a life with David Archuleta; God willing, he won't screw things up again.
In another world...in another world, maybe there had been a wedding early on, which could have led as easily to adopted children and married bliss as a messy divorce. It had been harder for two guys to get married ten years ago; for one, in this state it hadn't been legal.
And, ten years ago, they hadn't been as good at dealing with their issues - Arch's age, their differences over religion and family, the stresses of their careers, Cook's need to carry more burdens than he could manage. Still, if the drugs hadn't happened, who's to say they wouldn't have worked those things out in time?
Cook doesn't want to think too hard about this. This is the world they live in now, scarred by the choices they'd both made. He's just grateful for this second chance to make things right.
"Hey," someone says, quietly, and Cook nearly jumps out of his skin. He turns to see the hard blue eyes of Roy Mitchell in the pew beside him.
"Shit, Roy," says Cook, drawling it to hide the sudden pounding of blood in his ears. He definitely hadn't invited Roy to the wedding, or indeed anyone from A+M. Now that Cook had moved back to his old label RCA, he wasn't in good odor with the A+M business team.
And Roy had wanted it to be more than just business. Cook had let Roy corner him that night in 2015 at the disastrous Labyrinth premiere, the lowest point in Cook's entire fucking life.
Cook had invited some of his exes to this wedding, like they did in Hollywood, but only Chris Pine had agreed to come; neither Natasha nor Cameron was speaking to him still and he didn't blame either of them. Carrie was nine months pregnant and about to have the twins any day now. He hadn't invited Julia Gravenhorst because he didn't think it would’ve been sensitive to Arch, and he knows if Arch set eyes on Roy, his normally peace-loving spouse-to-be would be reaching for the nearest edged weapon.
Which is what Cook tells Roy. "Look, it was good of you to come, but I didn't invite you. This is so not a good idea; my husband is gonna have a seizure if he sees you here."
Roy holds up his hands. He's looking reasonably well. Cook hasn't seen him for three years, but they've been kind to him. He'd been a platinum blond when he'd been on Cook's production team; his hair's now a nice, natural brown and he's sporting some designer stubble.
"Not looking to make trouble, Dave. I won't stay. I just wanted to say congratulations to the guy who broke my heart."
Cook sighs; he's familiar enough with guilt, doesn't have that much of it to spare for Roy, who had actually, actively, participated in the lifestyle choices that had marked Cook’s downward spiral in 2015.
"Roy, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. You know how messed up I was, then."
"You're not the only one," Roy says softly and touches Cook on the shoulder. Almost reflexively, Cook feels the cold of the frenum piercing he'd gotten from one of the needle parlors in downtown Hollywood all those years ago, where he'd caught something that had changed his life. He hasn't worn the piercing in years, but something inside him shrinks at the memory.
"You know what? I think you should leave," says Cook, in a voice he hasn't used in a long time. It's the voice that belonged to the man he'd been, cruel and paranoid and perpetually strung out on cocaine.
Roy's face goes a little pale. Clearly Roy remembers this Cook too, and what he'd been capable of.
"Fine. I think I'd better do that." Roy pulls himself up with some dignity; Cook belatedly realizes he’s high as a kite.
Cook stands as well and looks around the nave. Someone’s coming; fortunately, the figure approaching them isn't an irate fiance but one of his security detail.
It takes Cook a couple of seconds to recognize the man, who's new to the security team. And Cook doesn't need him; the day he needs help dealing with Roy Mitchell is the day he checks himself into intensive care and never leaves.
He turns his back on the security guy, faces Roy for what he hopes will be the last time. "Take care of yourself," he says.
Roy nods. "Goodbye, Dave." He looks like he wants to touch Cook, but thinks the better of it.
Cook watches Roy pick his way up the side passage and tries to suppress the shiver. Damn it, like he needed this particular reminder of his past today.
"Mr. Cook, are you okay?" It's the new guy, whose name, he'd just remembered, is Anthony.
Cook figures he'd better sit down before he has a seizure, too, sees his fingers twitch as they grasp the prayer rail.
"I'm fine. Could you please get me some water?"
Anthony nods and vanishes, leaving Cook with his memories. Ah, thank God the drugs haven't left him with that many, but the ones he does remember, blue-tinged, aren't at all pleasant.
He's not there any more, he's not that person any more. He's finally stopped paying for those mistakes, finally opened himself to love again. But he still remembers what addiction felt like, knows he’ll always remember.
When Anthony comes back, he brings Cook a plastic cup of water, and a palmful of something blue.
For an instant, Cook's vision seems to blur. At first, there isn't a blue pill in the outstretched hand; then it's tiny, and then it's huge, the size of a dinner plate. It wavers insubstantially in the air, azure as the sky outside. His stomach clenches with need that shakes him from top to tail, his eyes water: what he wouldn't give to taste the absolute calm of blue, just one more time.
Cook watches his own hand snake out, an addict's reflexes, moving with no input from his brain. He smacks Anthony's hand away.
He’s still operating on automatic: "Jesus, what's wrong with you? Take it away!"
Anthony looks pretty taken aback - he’s probably not sure if he should be apologizing or taking offence. Clearly nobody had seen fit to brief him properly on the boss dude and his sordid past. Cook doesn't care: if the man doesn't get rid of the pill, Cook is going to fling it into the bushes himself, together with the guy's dead body. Goddamnit, it had been three years, and he thought he'd lost Arch and his own life for good in that final night when the world had fallen down.
Anthony backs away carefully and disappears, like his only role at Cook’s damn wedding was to put temptation in Cook’s path again.
Cook's still shaking when Neal comes over. Some best man you are, buddy. Where were you ten minutes ago, when Roy was here, or five, when my new security guy offered me a downer?
Neal frowns at Cook's pallor, but doesn't proffer a comment. Instead, he holds out an iris, dark blue petals fragile and beautiful in the palm of his hand.
"This, apparently, is for you. Lemme pin it on, so you don't stick yourself."
His best man's fingers are warm, carefully affixing the blue flower to Cook's lapel. Cook looks at his wedding boutonniere, which matches the one pinned to Neal's own jacket.
"Thanks," he tells his best friend, a little thickly, and clasps his hand. This is all the blue I need.
He's stopped shaking, as it happens. He's gonna be fine. Maybe he could always have done it on his own strength if he’d had Neal and the guys with him. It had been the drugs that had driven them away, and despite the mistakes he'd made, they'd eventually come back to him.
And so had David Archuleta, who was going to be at his side now, too, very soon.
It's a little surreal how the church has suddenly filled with people in the last twenty minutes.
Cook sees a sea of faces, friends and relatives of his and Arch's; in the front pew are his parents and their partners, Drew, Claire and their baby. There are his new in-laws: the grown-up faces of the four Archuleta sibs, Jeff and his third wife. David's beloved ex-wife, Isabel, hand in hand with her new husband, here to support her former spouse as he's about to take marriage vows again.
The wedding march strikes up, softly at first, and then ringing through the church, Andy Skib's magic fingers somehow managing to coax perfection from the old pipe organ. His friend's wide grin makes Cook's breath stop for a second. It's been a long time since he'd heard Andy play so formally, and it's as glorious as an angel's choir singing the Hallelujah chorus.
And coming down the aisle on his mother's arm, with his measured stride and grace, is David Archuleta. Arch looks as luminous as when he'd been eighteen years old and newly in love with Cook, is smiling the same smile that Cook loves and has always loved. He's holding his little boy, Jamie, carefully by the hand.
Three Archuleta generations walk past the stained glass windows, from light to shade, light to shade, until they stop in the circle of brightness at the communion table at the front of the church, where Cook and Neal are standing.
Under her lovely hat, Lupe is kind of biting her lip and struggling with tears; little Jamie is calm and self-possessed. Cook only has eyes for Arch, whom time and hard-won wisdom have made fiercer and more beautiful than anything in the hall.
He'd happened upon Arch this morning crying over old concert footage, which had made Cook's heart ache and made him want to break his own hand out of sheer unfairness and futility. The happiest day of their lives, and Arch had been burdened with re-living the pain Cook had put in their past. But it was bound to happen, with everything they'd been through, there was no way they'd have sunshine and butterflies or unmitigated bliss, even on their wedding day.
There's no trace of tears now, though, on Arch’s flawless face. His eyes are clear and transparent and full of the future. "Hey," he whispers, like it's just the two of them in a quiet room.
"Missed you," Cook mouths. This is how they greet each other now, whether it's ten hours or ten days apart. They'd spent ten long years telling themselves they didn't miss the other, and never again.
"Missed you more," Arch mouths back. He kisses his mom on the cheek, bends down to cup his son's serious little face in his hands and to tell Jamie he loves him, and then, as Lupe shepherds Jamie to their seats in the front row, he turns to Cook and takes his hand.
The choir has clearly been harassed by Andy and Lupe into stepping up their game, because they sound pitch-perfect on David's favorite hymn. Claudia reads the Song of Solomon, and Drew reads from Ecclesiastes: For everything there is a season, and a purpose under Heaven. Cook knows how self-indulgent it is, but it pleases him to think he's finally found his own purpose, tying his life to Arch's at last.
Finally, after Pastor Mike's simple homily on love, it's time for the marriage vows, the promises which two people in love had made before God and their community through the centuries. Cook and Archuleta speak the age-old words as if they're brand new and composed just for them.
I take you, David, for my husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, and forsaking all others to be faithful to you, as long as we both shall live.
So promising, they set aside illness, material wealth, poverty of spirit, abuse and infidelity, to make this pledge to each other at last.
Cook realizes that some of his family and Arch's are crying, but Arch himself is calm, with the distance it's taken them to arrive at this place, at this wedding day.
And Cook isn't crying either, uncharacteristically: he figures, feeling as close to perfectly happy as he can ever remember being, that he's done enough crying to last a lifetime, and now is their time for the harvest.
"Rings," Pastor Mike says to Neal, who is surreptitiously rubbing his eye with one thumb. Cook makes an Am I gonna have to kill you? face, and Neal pulls Cartier circles of gold from his inner pocket.
It's strange and wonderful how such a simple symbol can be so loaded with meaning. Pastor Mike blesses the rings, and Cook fastens Arch's onto his ring finger.
Arch's turn, his deft hands finding it easy to slide Cook's ring on despite his thick knuckle and strumming calluses, and Cook has tears, after all, from gratitude: that they'd been permitted to marry here in front of their family and friends, that, finally, ten years after they'd met, Arch’s standing here and placing this ring of ownership on his finger.
As a symbol of my faithfulness and love, with this ring, I wed you. With my body, I worship you. All that I have, I give to you; I'm yours forever, and you are mine. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen.
Pastor Mike grins, says, "That which God has joined together, let no man put asunder. David James, David Roland, I pronounce you legally married. And I'd suggest you both did something about that," he adds, as the applause starts to rise around them.
Cook and Arch smile at each other. Finally.
And before God and the congregation of the Blue Springs Church of Our Savior, Cook takes his new husband in his arms.
*
iii. Something New: Blue October -
The World's Not So Difficult/The First Time
Arch's first wedding in Utah was held at daybreak, with the morning mist still thick on the ground. He remembers his young bride walking towards him in his parents' church, her lovely face filled with the hope and eagerness of that first blush of dawn.
They'd been so young, then, he'd felt the newness of their life together ahead of them, everything unsullied and pure and innocent. That sort of innocence couldn't last, hadn't lasted, although they'd tried with good faith and the best of intentions. They'd said goodbye to each other in their old house in Murray in the gathering evening; they'd signed the divorce papers and held each other at her mom's house in Oregon at night.
This second wedding, to the person he was supposed to marry, was to take place at midday. He'd figured it was fitting. Neither Cook nor he was in the first flush of youth, neither of them new or innocent any longer. It was the mid-point of their lives together, when the blaze of morning had abated, and they were headed, older and wiser, towards the afternoon.
"I like that," Cook had said, when they'd talked about the wedding details. "The second inning stretch."
Half-time, Arch had thought, and the symbolism of that had made his eyes burn.
And midday is indeed perfect for them as they are now. When Arch had first met Cook, he’d been full of wild, passionate youth, with maroon hair and knowing eyes and his gigantic laugh. Arch had thought he was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. He'd carried the image of both of them in white, standing on the biggest stage in the world and then embracing under a shower of winning confetti, locked in his secret heart: a picture of what their white wedding might have looked like had they married young as Cook had wanted them to. It was a stupid, ridiculously romantic child's dream, overblown and unreal, and one he'd tried to leave behind when he'd left Cook those many years ago.
But in this moment, he finds that he'd brought that image with him here to their wedding day.
That's why he pauses on the steps of the church to put his hand to Cook's, like he did so many years ago.
Cook's mouth quirks; Arch sees he remembers, too. Cook's face is older but even more beautiful to Arch now, full of years and time and the demons he's fought in order to win his way back to Arch's side at last.
This is real, that's where they are now, this is his teetotal knight in Tom Ford, wearing Arch's ring on his finger. Cook kisses him on the church steps, under a shower of their wedding confetti, and it makes the perfect snapshot to hold in his heart forever.
The Four Seasons reception hall is awash in white and dark blue, like the ocean view from their new La Jolla home. Cook's surrounded by family and well-wishers, but he really wishes he was back in their wedding limo, alone with Arch, holding him in his arms and imagining the sound of the sea waves on the shore.
Cook's mom has arranged a traditional wedding lunch, and there are toasts from friends and roasts from old lovers. Arch and Isabel spend a long half hour together under the flower-festooned arches, taking turns to hold their increasingly sleepy child, whom Isabel's new husband finally bundles off for his nap. Carrie Underwood-Fisher has sent an eloquent gift basket large enough to hold a dead body, there are flowers from starlets he doesn't recognize, and Natasha Bedingfield has sent nothing at all.
Chris Pine wraps his arms around Cook, murmuring, "You're breaking my heart, Dave!" while Karl examines the diamonds on Arch's wrist and mutters, "Think it's my bank account he's breakin'. Way to raise the bar, dammit."
"I want a Patek, Handsome, you could always get me one'a those," Chris grins at Karl over Cook's head, and Arch meets Cook's eyes, meaningfully - they'll never wear watches or count the time for each other ever again.
Randy, Paula and Simon, reunited for this momentous occasion, give a hilarious wedding commentary, ad-libbing each other's lines, Simon taking, "This was good for you both for me. For you. For you for me! I really felt you!" Arch laughs till he cries, anyway; some things never change.
Michael Johns makes a slightly drunken, touching speech in which he bursts into "I'm part of you indefinitely", Brooke fails to get any words out at all, clasps him to her pregnant stomach and cries on his shirt. Cook strokes her blonde hair and tries not to cry, too; her forgiveness, so long coming, feels like a final absolution.
The lunch and speeches stretch until it's a decent hour for dancing. Cook and Arch are up first, of course; there's only one song they'd select for their first dance, and the rest of Quintain take to the small stage to launch into an instrumental version of "All I Really Need is You".
Cook holds Arch in his arms, and as they move onto the dance floor Cook sings the words to the song to his new husband, under his breath, to just the two of them.
Have I spent so many years trying but in vain to tell you
Promise you I'm always gonna love you, because all I really need is you.
Cook sings softly into Arch's ear, and Arch cries so hard into Cook's shoulder that Cook has to hold him up. They'll dance to this song for the rest of their lives.
After the first dance, Andy leads Quintain in Beth Foraker's favorite song, "At Last". Cook dances with Beth, David dances with Lupe, and it's the turn of the mothers cry, as mothers are wont to do.
After the conventional dances, the rockers take over. Raine Maida, Kris Allen and Steve Van Zandt join Quintain on stage, the Season 7 Idols drag Cook and Arch out to reprise "Please Don't Stop the Music", it's all kinds of mayhem and nobody breaks for dinner or breaks any guitars, which Cook counts as a singular achievement. He's also pretty pleased he's managed to not cry all afternoon.
Of course, being David Cook, he doesn't manage to keep this up for much longer, although you'd need a heart of stone to do so when David Archuleta takes the mic from Andy and sings Cook's favorite love song, Blue October's haunting, lovely, "Calling You".
"There's something that I can't quite explain
I'm so in love with you
You'll never take that away
And if I've said it a hundred times before
Expect a thousand more
You'll never take that away."
Arch sings it simply, his incandescent voice soaring above the chandeliered ceiling, and of course Cook loses it. He's been dancing with Carly and they have to stop before they knock something over. Cook heads for the stage, nearly tripping over his own feet, because, for some reason, there's something in his eye.
"I will keep calling you to see
If you're sleeping, are you dreaming
If you're dreaming, are you dreaming of me
I can't believe you actually picked me..."
Cook manages to get onstage, but he really doesn't have it together enough to sing, and he ends up leaning against the mic stand while Arch finishes the song:
"I thought that the world had lost its way
Then I fell in love with you
And you took that away
You take away the old
Show me the new
And I feel like I can fly when I stand next to you."
"For real?" he murmurs. Arch nods and grins, a little red-eyed himself, and segues neatly into "Zero Gravity".
Arch's glad he had a Plan B, because all their wedding guests aren't budging and look like they’re determined to stay for dinner. Louisa put out the call for chilli dogs and fries, which the somewhat bemused Four Seasons hotel staff managed to accommodate, and the long tables are cleared of lunch and reset for dinner.
As they sit down to eat, Jill reads out some of the commendations and congratulatory messages from guests and fans; some have sent v-logs also, which Jill plays from her laptop, and fanvids that make Cook and Arch smile. David Bowie has sent a vidmessage, and so have Springsteen and Daniel Craig. There's a short, dignified email from Julia Gravenhorst, which Arch appreciates: say what you like about her, the lady had class.
And an old-style fax arrives at the ballroom with the White House crest on it. It's from President Hillary Clinton, and the room goes dead silent when Jill reads it out loud, her hand visibly shaking.
"Dear David, my heartiest congratulations to you and your lovely husband on the occasion of your wedding. I remember the time you played for me ten years ago at the 2008 Glamour Woman of the Year awards, my favorite song no less!
I have been delighted to watch, over the years, as your career went from strength to strength. I would love to have you both over at the House some time next quarter, and if you would play for Bill and me at our Thanksgiving Ball. Hillary.
PS: I'd expect you to sing that song at your wedding, though I'll forgive you for not thinking of me while you sang it."
Cook is sitting entirely still. His eyebrows have climbed to his hairline, which is quite a feat in itself.
Syesha, who is not a fan, mutters something along the lines of, "Oh, she's such a grandstanding bitch!" while Jason and Ramiele exchange excited high-fives. Arch doesn't know what to think; he's obviously honored that their President had seen fit to send them a congratulatory note, heck, he even voted for her, but he does think she may have been a little overly flattering to his new husband; he'll have to keep a close look-out on his man when they attend her Thanksgiving Ball.
Of course, encouraged by said presidential decree, Cook goes to get his acoustic guitar. At first Arch is slightly peeved, but that's before Cook starts to sing, and his rich, unfettered voice fills the hall:
The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and the empty skies, my love,
To the dark and the empty skies.
The first time ever I kissed your mouth
And felt your heart beat close to mine
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command, my love,
That was there at my command.
And the first time ever I lay with you
I felt your heart so close to mine
And I knew our joy would fill the earth
And last till the end of time, my love
It would last till the end of time, my love,
The first time ever I saw your face, your face, your face.
Arch figures it's okay to cry at your own wedding, especially when your husband is singing the most romantic song in the world to you and telling you your love will last till the end of time. Arch knows you can't take love for granted - the intervening years had brought that home to them in the most hurtful of ways - but the bare emotion in Cook's eyes tells him Cook is going to do everything in his power to make it so.
He reaches out when Cook's done, and holds Cook's strumming hand. "I knew, too, the first time I saw your face," he tells Cook, honestly. "Except we know it's not that easy."
Cook gives him that wry smile, the one he makes when he's trying not to cry himself. "I'm not sure," he says. "Maybe it is, maybe it is easy, and we just made things more complicated for ourselves. Y'know, I've held all those firsts in my heart, too, all these years. I loved you from the first moment I saw you, and every moment since."
Arch presses his fingers to his mouth for a second, and then takes Cook's guitar off his shoulder and puts it on Arch’s own chair. He gets into Cook's lap, cups Cook's face in his hands front of everyone, and kisses his first love, as if it's their very first time.
*
iv. Something Blue:
We've Come So Far
It began ... in 2008, with two boys sharing a stage. One piano, one guitar. One shared song, about heroes and salvation, and a year after, another song: an anthem for every day they were alive.
Then another song, and they made the choice to live together. The rollercoaster of life started for them, and it damaged them badly. They were too young then, and loved each other too passionately, for things to last.
There were other songs, afterwards, other notes out of key. Duets sung with other people: a wife, various girlfriends, a boy or three. The day the world fell down, and the music was lost to them for far too long.
And then an old song was sung ten years later, and at last they realized all it was they really needed.
It stays for the moment on Cook, on Archuleta, on their wedding night. Backlit in blue: outside a hazy summer midnight; inside, sounds that belong in the bluest of bordellos.
"I call half time," pants Cook, finally, pulling himself up on his forearms. The sweat is coming off him like rain, his blood's pounding in his veins, he's never felt more alive. "Seriously, Arch. You kill me on our first night of marriage, insurance will never pay out."
"Pssh," Arch says dismissively. He's breathing fast as well, slick limbs gleaming and bare in the moonlight. There's a ruin of silk and lace and flecks of wedding confetti on the floor. "Nobody ever died from too much sex! It's one of those urban myths."
"I can see your line of defense now," Cook murmurs, running his lower lip across the ridge of Archuleta's pink-brown areola, to which some confetti seems to have adhered. Arch makes a small groaning sound as Cook licks slowly from nipple to navel, and then lower. His thighs spread, his hands clutch in Cook's hair, either to pull him off or urge him on - Cook doesn't know which but he's eager to find out.
"That's so good. Cook, if you're gonna die from sex, you better take me with you."
"That sounds fair. I do believe it's your turn, Archuleta," says Cook, taking his new husband by the hips and turning him over. He takes a second to appreciate the way the light spills over Arch's perfect ass. Arch scissors and moans under his tongue, and when Cook's done with him the bed is a complete wreck.
"Y'know," Cook says conversationally, rolling off Arch and onto his back, trying to keep the smugness from his voice, "I thought wedding nights were supposed to be innocent. Something white and blushing and virginal."
"Never," Arch murmurs back, roughly, sitting up and catching his breath. He trails a hand along Cook's damp chest. "I know you, you’ll always prefer something blue. It’s your turn, now."
It ends on clouds, blue skies, a morning flight to Paris. Arch will sleep, curled against Cook's shoulder, and Cook will watch his dreaming face.
They'll walk those cobbled streets again hand in hand. This time, they'll pray together under the stained glass windows of the Sacre Coeur.
There will be tears as they visit Pierre Herme and Arch ties a blue ribbon on Cook's ring finger, over the circle of gold he'll wear until they're silver and sleeping in the earth side by side.
And they'll sit under a tree in Montmartre, and have an artist draw their picture again - of them in 2018, ten years after their story began.
/the beginning.
Cook/Archuleta, [R], 7,000+ words.
After AIRN’s decade of love and loss, the Davids finally tie their lives together, though their happiness is, as always, colored by something blue.
Commissioned art by imlikat - some images NSFW.
i. Something Old:
Til I'm Blue - Where We've Been
2018: It's supposed to be the happiest day of his life, but David Archuleta isn’t feeling it right now.
He's sitting in the den of Cook's mom's house, creasing his formal dress pants. His eyes are closed. His mouth is full of the sharp taste of salt and restraint.
In his ears...his ears are filled with the sound of Cook's rich, nuanced voice, that speaks to him like nothing else will ever do in life.
And what this recording of Cook is singing (With your hands just as cold as mine, we could rest for a while) is the searing claustrophobic song that Arch hates, about being dead in the ground, and waiting for his lover to join him.
(When they put me in the ground, I want you to be there waiting.)
In his mind's eye, Arch sees Cook, his hazel eyes cool like stones, his cold, still face. The sickness that he's battled for so long, claiming his body.
(Would you follow me to heaven? Would you follow me to hell? Would you leave this world for me and a wooden coat?)
Arch can't breathe. He feels the earth pressing in on him, smells the damp grass. In his mind’s eye his new husband lying silent in funereal finery, encased in beech-wood.
(When there’s no one else around, we could be together
We won’t make a sound as long as they won’t let us
Maybe the truth will illuminate the way to be, the way to be)
Arch exhales fiercely and opens his eyes, sees Cook on the suspended TV screen in an old concert recording from the Heroes tour eight years ago. The tagline onscreen says that this is the recording from their Madrid concert, only a couple of weeks after Arch had left him in 2010 in a hotel room in Paris.
The Spanish summer evening backlights him in blue. Cook has a surgical plaster on one cheek, over a wound Arch had clawed into his skin. His eyes are a wasteland.
(Where we be, we’ve come so far
Where did I go astray from you?)
Arch can remember those weeks in sharp detail; can likely recall, if he puts his mind to it, what he'd been doing at the precise moment Cook had sung that song in Madrid - probably lying in bed in Brooke's room, staring numbly at the by-then-familiar shadows across the ceiling, wondering where their lives had gone so badly off course.
Cook's singing this song as if he means it, and likely he does. There's a universe of self-loathing in his eyes that marks the start of Cook's fall into addiction, into endless night.
What's making Arch cry is the way Cook looks onscreen - not quite thirty, impossibly young and beautiful, before the drugs and sickness had set in. There aren’t enough tears for the years they'd spent astray from each other.
(Where we be, we’ve come so far
I think I’ll just hold my breath ‘til I’m blue.)
The first time Arch had heard this song, when he was eighteen and newly in love, he'd asked himself whether he'd be prepared to lie in the ground with Cook? And he'd answered yes to this, yes to will you be there waiting, with your hands so cold in mine we could rest for a while.
It frightened Arch then, horrifies him now ten years on. He has a child, he knows he can't indulge in this sort of extravagance any more, but he's not sure he can help the way he feels.
He never wants Cook to leave him. He's not sure he can live without him again.
He knew Cook was sick when he'd asked Cook to marry him. He was clear-eyed about what that meant: that they needed to make use of whatever time they had left, to love each other.
And, because Cook is sick... because Cook is sick, he knows that he'll have to leave Cook in the ground before his time.
(We’ve come so far)
(We’ve come so far)
He knows, also, in this searing moment that despite the distance he's come, despite even his darling Jamie, he'd give anything to settle in beside Cook and take Cook's square, beautiful hands in his, and close his eyes to rest.
Click to viewHe's sitting there full of thoughts of death and cold and final rest, when arms circle him and someone presses a kiss into his shoulder.
A reminder that that final day's not today.
"Hey, are we watching old videos? Someone said there was a wedding going on today."
Arch turns around and leans into Cook's embrace.
The happiest day of his life; he's going to tie his life to Cook's, and for some reason he's holding his breath till he's blue.
He exhales unsteadily. Cook kisses his wet face, rubs his tears away, doesn't say anything more, just holds on. Cook knows as well as he does that their happiness is never going to be unqualified, that their bliss always going to be adulterated, like Cook is always going to crave the taste of blue.
Archuleta wishes that wasn't so. But wishing is never going to change their world.
In any case, in this moment, loving Cook so desperately, feeling complete in Cook's arms despite everything, Arch wouldn't exchange this reality for another - the pain in their past makes the happiness in their present so much more treasured; their future that much more precious, for all that it could be unexpectedly cut short.
"Okay," says Archuleta, finally. "I'm good. Let's go get married," and Cook's answering smile lights up the room.
*
ii. Something Borrowed:
The Blue Pill - A Time for All Things
Cook's elegant in Tom Ford, standing in the vaulted doorway of the Foraker family church, wishing he could have a stiff drink, or that he'd taken up smoking. His agent, Lynn Siegel, had told him smoking would be hell on his complexion, though, and God knows Cook needs all the help he can get.
Maybe if he stands downwind from his best man’s cigarette, he'll get a secondhand high.
Neal must be the worst best man in the world. Cook hasn't been a groom before, but he has the vague impression that the best man is supposed to fuss over him and make encouraging noises and generally be a steadying influence.
Instead, it's Lynn and his assistant Jill and a couple of stylists who are busy last-minute-clucking over him, trying to make sure his hair doesn't collapse under its own weight, and that his bow tie is neatly draped and that his necklaces don't strangle him; it's all seriously setting Cook's teeth on edge.
And Neal is just leaning against the doorway to the main sanctuary, careless in his matching tux, blowing serene smoke rings into the sky. Nobody's drinking in front of Cook these days, but Cook's willing to bet that Neal has a small flask of something in his breast pocket, nestled beside the rings.
For an instant, Cook's palms itch: what he wouldn't give for a shot of Jack.
Okay, it wouldn't do to show up to his wedding plastered. Come to think of it, it wouldn't be very considerate to his new husband to be to show up smelling of cigarette smoke, either, but he doesn't think Arch would be too concerned about these things. If it came to that, he figured Arch would think anything would be preferable to a spouse that was about to climb the walls with nervousness.
Of course, what Cook really craves, beyond alcohol and nicotine, is the taste of blue. A taste that’ll calm him, that’ll sweep all pain and nerves away in its undertow, and with it, of course, his hard-won sobriety. Cook knows he'll always crave the blue, but knowing it doesn't make this any easier, especially at a time like this.
Maybe Cook should concentrate on other things. The cloudy bells tolling above them, the serene midday sky, the high white spires. The sound of the choir inside, being put through their paces by Andy Skib and Lupe Archuleta. From the sounds of things, his band-mate and his prospective mother in law are giving Pastor Mike's choir a pretty hard time.
Lynn is babbling on about the lighting guys and the photographer from People Magazine; some girls from the agency are setting up the reception table. Neal continues to smoke contemplatively. Cook watches as a limo pulls up the long driveway and decants the key members of the Cook-Foraker clan onto the church steps: his mom, in a huge blue hat trimmed with wildflowers, his sister-in-law Kendra, his little brother Drew, and his nephew and niece in their pageboy and flower girl best.
"Hey, guys!" Cook bends and opens his arms for the kids, careless of the line of his dress trousers, and as one, his stylists groan.
His mom kisses him distractedly. "You look nice, honey. The flowers, are they all here -?" She sweeps into the church with purpose and church attendants scramble to get out of her way.
Drew manages to pry their nephew and niece off Cook. "Where is everyone? What are you guys still doing out here?"
"The Doctor needs to mainline his daily nicotine," says Cook, and Neal rolls his eyes and stubs out his cigarette.
"It isn't me. Seems Ben Affleck needs the natural light for his last minute touch-up."
"That's it, we're done here," says Cook, a little more sharply than he'd intended, and the stylists abruptly stop their fussing.
Jill gives Cook a neutral look, and Cook exhales sharply. "Sorry, just nerves. Look, let's go inside, okay?"
Jill grimaces. Cook doesn't mistake the look Drew and Neal exchange over his head, either.
He's not losing it. He's going to be fine. Turning on his heel, shaking off the attentions of the stylists, he stalks off into the church, leaving everyone to follow in his wake.
It is darker in the old church with its inlaid stone walls and graceful stained glass windows. The pews are adorned with bright summer flowers in their wedding colors of white and dark blue: calla lilies and irises, flowers which his mom loves, and he knows Arch does too.
At the end of the aisle, Pastor Mike's waiting for them in his Episcopalian robes of office.
"David, how are we feeling?"
Cook clasps his pastor's hand. "Nervous as hell, and this close to jumping into the car and eloping to Vegas."
"It would break your mother's heart, and your mom in law’s! And, you know, I would be a little upset, too." Pastor Mike is laughing. "Seriously, try not to stress out too much, okay? This doesn't need to be perfect. You have the rest of your lives to get everything right."
There's sudden tightness in Cook's throat. Great, he doesn't need to start crying even before the service begins. Pastor Mike has always understood him. Arch and he could have gotten married in their home church in La Jolla, but he'd wanted to tie his life to Arch's here in Blue Springs, in the church where Andrew got married, and where Cook had taken his first tentative steps back to God and to Archuleta himself.
Pastor Mike turns to field a question from Beth, and the Cook brothers squint at the people starting to wander into the church - there are a couple of relatives, the Peeks, Drew's wife Claire and the youngest addition to the Cook clan, baby Adam.
At the sight of his little boy, Drew breaks out into his biggest proud-daddy smile. "There's my kid! Hey, I'm gonna go to deal with the guests. You stay - might as well freak out in here, where less people can see you. I'll tell People Magazine you're in front."
Cook sits, obediently, and his entourage disperses, leaving him blessedly alone for a second, near the front of the church.
David Cook, groom for the day, looks up at the dome overhead, the celebratory linen across the communion table, the simple lines of the Episcopalian cross, echoing the diamond cross around Cook's own neck, and feels a sort of peace descend.
This is the day his life starts again, for real this time. A clean slate, a second chance, for a life with David Archuleta; God willing, he won't screw things up again.
In another world...in another world, maybe there had been a wedding early on, which could have led as easily to adopted children and married bliss as a messy divorce. It had been harder for two guys to get married ten years ago; for one, in this state it hadn't been legal.
And, ten years ago, they hadn't been as good at dealing with their issues - Arch's age, their differences over religion and family, the stresses of their careers, Cook's need to carry more burdens than he could manage. Still, if the drugs hadn't happened, who's to say they wouldn't have worked those things out in time?
Cook doesn't want to think too hard about this. This is the world they live in now, scarred by the choices they'd both made. He's just grateful for this second chance to make things right.
"Hey," someone says, quietly, and Cook nearly jumps out of his skin. He turns to see the hard blue eyes of Roy Mitchell in the pew beside him.
"Shit, Roy," says Cook, drawling it to hide the sudden pounding of blood in his ears. He definitely hadn't invited Roy to the wedding, or indeed anyone from A+M. Now that Cook had moved back to his old label RCA, he wasn't in good odor with the A+M business team.
And Roy had wanted it to be more than just business. Cook had let Roy corner him that night in 2015 at the disastrous Labyrinth premiere, the lowest point in Cook's entire fucking life.
Cook had invited some of his exes to this wedding, like they did in Hollywood, but only Chris Pine had agreed to come; neither Natasha nor Cameron was speaking to him still and he didn't blame either of them. Carrie was nine months pregnant and about to have the twins any day now. He hadn't invited Julia Gravenhorst because he didn't think it would’ve been sensitive to Arch, and he knows if Arch set eyes on Roy, his normally peace-loving spouse-to-be would be reaching for the nearest edged weapon.
Which is what Cook tells Roy. "Look, it was good of you to come, but I didn't invite you. This is so not a good idea; my husband is gonna have a seizure if he sees you here."
Roy holds up his hands. He's looking reasonably well. Cook hasn't seen him for three years, but they've been kind to him. He'd been a platinum blond when he'd been on Cook's production team; his hair's now a nice, natural brown and he's sporting some designer stubble.
"Not looking to make trouble, Dave. I won't stay. I just wanted to say congratulations to the guy who broke my heart."
Cook sighs; he's familiar enough with guilt, doesn't have that much of it to spare for Roy, who had actually, actively, participated in the lifestyle choices that had marked Cook’s downward spiral in 2015.
"Roy, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. You know how messed up I was, then."
"You're not the only one," Roy says softly and touches Cook on the shoulder. Almost reflexively, Cook feels the cold of the frenum piercing he'd gotten from one of the needle parlors in downtown Hollywood all those years ago, where he'd caught something that had changed his life. He hasn't worn the piercing in years, but something inside him shrinks at the memory.
"You know what? I think you should leave," says Cook, in a voice he hasn't used in a long time. It's the voice that belonged to the man he'd been, cruel and paranoid and perpetually strung out on cocaine.
Roy's face goes a little pale. Clearly Roy remembers this Cook too, and what he'd been capable of.
"Fine. I think I'd better do that." Roy pulls himself up with some dignity; Cook belatedly realizes he’s high as a kite.
Cook stands as well and looks around the nave. Someone’s coming; fortunately, the figure approaching them isn't an irate fiance but one of his security detail.
It takes Cook a couple of seconds to recognize the man, who's new to the security team. And Cook doesn't need him; the day he needs help dealing with Roy Mitchell is the day he checks himself into intensive care and never leaves.
He turns his back on the security guy, faces Roy for what he hopes will be the last time. "Take care of yourself," he says.
Roy nods. "Goodbye, Dave." He looks like he wants to touch Cook, but thinks the better of it.
Cook watches Roy pick his way up the side passage and tries to suppress the shiver. Damn it, like he needed this particular reminder of his past today.
"Mr. Cook, are you okay?" It's the new guy, whose name, he'd just remembered, is Anthony.
Cook figures he'd better sit down before he has a seizure, too, sees his fingers twitch as they grasp the prayer rail.
"I'm fine. Could you please get me some water?"
Anthony nods and vanishes, leaving Cook with his memories. Ah, thank God the drugs haven't left him with that many, but the ones he does remember, blue-tinged, aren't at all pleasant.
He's not there any more, he's not that person any more. He's finally stopped paying for those mistakes, finally opened himself to love again. But he still remembers what addiction felt like, knows he’ll always remember.
When Anthony comes back, he brings Cook a plastic cup of water, and a palmful of something blue.
For an instant, Cook's vision seems to blur. At first, there isn't a blue pill in the outstretched hand; then it's tiny, and then it's huge, the size of a dinner plate. It wavers insubstantially in the air, azure as the sky outside. His stomach clenches with need that shakes him from top to tail, his eyes water: what he wouldn't give to taste the absolute calm of blue, just one more time.
Cook watches his own hand snake out, an addict's reflexes, moving with no input from his brain. He smacks Anthony's hand away.
He’s still operating on automatic: "Jesus, what's wrong with you? Take it away!"
Anthony looks pretty taken aback - he’s probably not sure if he should be apologizing or taking offence. Clearly nobody had seen fit to brief him properly on the boss dude and his sordid past. Cook doesn't care: if the man doesn't get rid of the pill, Cook is going to fling it into the bushes himself, together with the guy's dead body. Goddamnit, it had been three years, and he thought he'd lost Arch and his own life for good in that final night when the world had fallen down.
Anthony backs away carefully and disappears, like his only role at Cook’s damn wedding was to put temptation in Cook’s path again.
Cook's still shaking when Neal comes over. Some best man you are, buddy. Where were you ten minutes ago, when Roy was here, or five, when my new security guy offered me a downer?
Neal frowns at Cook's pallor, but doesn't proffer a comment. Instead, he holds out an iris, dark blue petals fragile and beautiful in the palm of his hand.
"This, apparently, is for you. Lemme pin it on, so you don't stick yourself."
His best man's fingers are warm, carefully affixing the blue flower to Cook's lapel. Cook looks at his wedding boutonniere, which matches the one pinned to Neal's own jacket.
"Thanks," he tells his best friend, a little thickly, and clasps his hand. This is all the blue I need.
He's stopped shaking, as it happens. He's gonna be fine. Maybe he could always have done it on his own strength if he’d had Neal and the guys with him. It had been the drugs that had driven them away, and despite the mistakes he'd made, they'd eventually come back to him.
And so had David Archuleta, who was going to be at his side now, too, very soon.
It's a little surreal how the church has suddenly filled with people in the last twenty minutes.
Cook sees a sea of faces, friends and relatives of his and Arch's; in the front pew are his parents and their partners, Drew, Claire and their baby. There are his new in-laws: the grown-up faces of the four Archuleta sibs, Jeff and his third wife. David's beloved ex-wife, Isabel, hand in hand with her new husband, here to support her former spouse as he's about to take marriage vows again.
The wedding march strikes up, softly at first, and then ringing through the church, Andy Skib's magic fingers somehow managing to coax perfection from the old pipe organ. His friend's wide grin makes Cook's breath stop for a second. It's been a long time since he'd heard Andy play so formally, and it's as glorious as an angel's choir singing the Hallelujah chorus.
And coming down the aisle on his mother's arm, with his measured stride and grace, is David Archuleta. Arch looks as luminous as when he'd been eighteen years old and newly in love with Cook, is smiling the same smile that Cook loves and has always loved. He's holding his little boy, Jamie, carefully by the hand.
Three Archuleta generations walk past the stained glass windows, from light to shade, light to shade, until they stop in the circle of brightness at the communion table at the front of the church, where Cook and Neal are standing.
Under her lovely hat, Lupe is kind of biting her lip and struggling with tears; little Jamie is calm and self-possessed. Cook only has eyes for Arch, whom time and hard-won wisdom have made fiercer and more beautiful than anything in the hall.
He'd happened upon Arch this morning crying over old concert footage, which had made Cook's heart ache and made him want to break his own hand out of sheer unfairness and futility. The happiest day of their lives, and Arch had been burdened with re-living the pain Cook had put in their past. But it was bound to happen, with everything they'd been through, there was no way they'd have sunshine and butterflies or unmitigated bliss, even on their wedding day.
There's no trace of tears now, though, on Arch’s flawless face. His eyes are clear and transparent and full of the future. "Hey," he whispers, like it's just the two of them in a quiet room.
"Missed you," Cook mouths. This is how they greet each other now, whether it's ten hours or ten days apart. They'd spent ten long years telling themselves they didn't miss the other, and never again.
"Missed you more," Arch mouths back. He kisses his mom on the cheek, bends down to cup his son's serious little face in his hands and to tell Jamie he loves him, and then, as Lupe shepherds Jamie to their seats in the front row, he turns to Cook and takes his hand.
The choir has clearly been harassed by Andy and Lupe into stepping up their game, because they sound pitch-perfect on David's favorite hymn. Claudia reads the Song of Solomon, and Drew reads from Ecclesiastes: For everything there is a season, and a purpose under Heaven. Cook knows how self-indulgent it is, but it pleases him to think he's finally found his own purpose, tying his life to Arch's at last.
Finally, after Pastor Mike's simple homily on love, it's time for the marriage vows, the promises which two people in love had made before God and their community through the centuries. Cook and Archuleta speak the age-old words as if they're brand new and composed just for them.
I take you, David, for my husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, and forsaking all others to be faithful to you, as long as we both shall live.
So promising, they set aside illness, material wealth, poverty of spirit, abuse and infidelity, to make this pledge to each other at last.
Cook realizes that some of his family and Arch's are crying, but Arch himself is calm, with the distance it's taken them to arrive at this place, at this wedding day.
And Cook isn't crying either, uncharacteristically: he figures, feeling as close to perfectly happy as he can ever remember being, that he's done enough crying to last a lifetime, and now is their time for the harvest.
"Rings," Pastor Mike says to Neal, who is surreptitiously rubbing his eye with one thumb. Cook makes an Am I gonna have to kill you? face, and Neal pulls Cartier circles of gold from his inner pocket.
It's strange and wonderful how such a simple symbol can be so loaded with meaning. Pastor Mike blesses the rings, and Cook fastens Arch's onto his ring finger.
Arch's turn, his deft hands finding it easy to slide Cook's ring on despite his thick knuckle and strumming calluses, and Cook has tears, after all, from gratitude: that they'd been permitted to marry here in front of their family and friends, that, finally, ten years after they'd met, Arch’s standing here and placing this ring of ownership on his finger.
As a symbol of my faithfulness and love, with this ring, I wed you. With my body, I worship you. All that I have, I give to you; I'm yours forever, and you are mine. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen.
Pastor Mike grins, says, "That which God has joined together, let no man put asunder. David James, David Roland, I pronounce you legally married. And I'd suggest you both did something about that," he adds, as the applause starts to rise around them.
Cook and Arch smile at each other. Finally.
And before God and the congregation of the Blue Springs Church of Our Savior, Cook takes his new husband in his arms.
*
iii. Something New: Blue October -
The World's Not So Difficult/The First Time
Arch's first wedding in Utah was held at daybreak, with the morning mist still thick on the ground. He remembers his young bride walking towards him in his parents' church, her lovely face filled with the hope and eagerness of that first blush of dawn.
They'd been so young, then, he'd felt the newness of their life together ahead of them, everything unsullied and pure and innocent. That sort of innocence couldn't last, hadn't lasted, although they'd tried with good faith and the best of intentions. They'd said goodbye to each other in their old house in Murray in the gathering evening; they'd signed the divorce papers and held each other at her mom's house in Oregon at night.
This second wedding, to the person he was supposed to marry, was to take place at midday. He'd figured it was fitting. Neither Cook nor he was in the first flush of youth, neither of them new or innocent any longer. It was the mid-point of their lives together, when the blaze of morning had abated, and they were headed, older and wiser, towards the afternoon.
"I like that," Cook had said, when they'd talked about the wedding details. "The second inning stretch."
Half-time, Arch had thought, and the symbolism of that had made his eyes burn.
And midday is indeed perfect for them as they are now. When Arch had first met Cook, he’d been full of wild, passionate youth, with maroon hair and knowing eyes and his gigantic laugh. Arch had thought he was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. He'd carried the image of both of them in white, standing on the biggest stage in the world and then embracing under a shower of winning confetti, locked in his secret heart: a picture of what their white wedding might have looked like had they married young as Cook had wanted them to. It was a stupid, ridiculously romantic child's dream, overblown and unreal, and one he'd tried to leave behind when he'd left Cook those many years ago.
But in this moment, he finds that he'd brought that image with him here to their wedding day.
That's why he pauses on the steps of the church to put his hand to Cook's, like he did so many years ago.
Cook's mouth quirks; Arch sees he remembers, too. Cook's face is older but even more beautiful to Arch now, full of years and time and the demons he's fought in order to win his way back to Arch's side at last.
This is real, that's where they are now, this is his teetotal knight in Tom Ford, wearing Arch's ring on his finger. Cook kisses him on the church steps, under a shower of their wedding confetti, and it makes the perfect snapshot to hold in his heart forever.
The Four Seasons reception hall is awash in white and dark blue, like the ocean view from their new La Jolla home. Cook's surrounded by family and well-wishers, but he really wishes he was back in their wedding limo, alone with Arch, holding him in his arms and imagining the sound of the sea waves on the shore.
Cook's mom has arranged a traditional wedding lunch, and there are toasts from friends and roasts from old lovers. Arch and Isabel spend a long half hour together under the flower-festooned arches, taking turns to hold their increasingly sleepy child, whom Isabel's new husband finally bundles off for his nap. Carrie Underwood-Fisher has sent an eloquent gift basket large enough to hold a dead body, there are flowers from starlets he doesn't recognize, and Natasha Bedingfield has sent nothing at all.
Chris Pine wraps his arms around Cook, murmuring, "You're breaking my heart, Dave!" while Karl examines the diamonds on Arch's wrist and mutters, "Think it's my bank account he's breakin'. Way to raise the bar, dammit."
"I want a Patek, Handsome, you could always get me one'a those," Chris grins at Karl over Cook's head, and Arch meets Cook's eyes, meaningfully - they'll never wear watches or count the time for each other ever again.
Randy, Paula and Simon, reunited for this momentous occasion, give a hilarious wedding commentary, ad-libbing each other's lines, Simon taking, "This was good for you both for me. For you. For you for me! I really felt you!" Arch laughs till he cries, anyway; some things never change.
Michael Johns makes a slightly drunken, touching speech in which he bursts into "I'm part of you indefinitely", Brooke fails to get any words out at all, clasps him to her pregnant stomach and cries on his shirt. Cook strokes her blonde hair and tries not to cry, too; her forgiveness, so long coming, feels like a final absolution.
The lunch and speeches stretch until it's a decent hour for dancing. Cook and Arch are up first, of course; there's only one song they'd select for their first dance, and the rest of Quintain take to the small stage to launch into an instrumental version of "All I Really Need is You".
Cook holds Arch in his arms, and as they move onto the dance floor Cook sings the words to the song to his new husband, under his breath, to just the two of them.
Have I spent so many years trying but in vain to tell you
Promise you I'm always gonna love you, because all I really need is you.
Cook sings softly into Arch's ear, and Arch cries so hard into Cook's shoulder that Cook has to hold him up. They'll dance to this song for the rest of their lives.
After the first dance, Andy leads Quintain in Beth Foraker's favorite song, "At Last". Cook dances with Beth, David dances with Lupe, and it's the turn of the mothers cry, as mothers are wont to do.
After the conventional dances, the rockers take over. Raine Maida, Kris Allen and Steve Van Zandt join Quintain on stage, the Season 7 Idols drag Cook and Arch out to reprise "Please Don't Stop the Music", it's all kinds of mayhem and nobody breaks for dinner or breaks any guitars, which Cook counts as a singular achievement. He's also pretty pleased he's managed to not cry all afternoon.
Of course, being David Cook, he doesn't manage to keep this up for much longer, although you'd need a heart of stone to do so when David Archuleta takes the mic from Andy and sings Cook's favorite love song, Blue October's haunting, lovely, "Calling You".
"There's something that I can't quite explain
I'm so in love with you
You'll never take that away
And if I've said it a hundred times before
Expect a thousand more
You'll never take that away."
Arch sings it simply, his incandescent voice soaring above the chandeliered ceiling, and of course Cook loses it. He's been dancing with Carly and they have to stop before they knock something over. Cook heads for the stage, nearly tripping over his own feet, because, for some reason, there's something in his eye.
"I will keep calling you to see
If you're sleeping, are you dreaming
If you're dreaming, are you dreaming of me
I can't believe you actually picked me..."
Cook manages to get onstage, but he really doesn't have it together enough to sing, and he ends up leaning against the mic stand while Arch finishes the song:
"I thought that the world had lost its way
Then I fell in love with you
And you took that away
You take away the old
Show me the new
And I feel like I can fly when I stand next to you."
"For real?" he murmurs. Arch nods and grins, a little red-eyed himself, and segues neatly into "Zero Gravity".
Arch's glad he had a Plan B, because all their wedding guests aren't budging and look like they’re determined to stay for dinner. Louisa put out the call for chilli dogs and fries, which the somewhat bemused Four Seasons hotel staff managed to accommodate, and the long tables are cleared of lunch and reset for dinner.
As they sit down to eat, Jill reads out some of the commendations and congratulatory messages from guests and fans; some have sent v-logs also, which Jill plays from her laptop, and fanvids that make Cook and Arch smile. David Bowie has sent a vidmessage, and so have Springsteen and Daniel Craig. There's a short, dignified email from Julia Gravenhorst, which Arch appreciates: say what you like about her, the lady had class.
And an old-style fax arrives at the ballroom with the White House crest on it. It's from President Hillary Clinton, and the room goes dead silent when Jill reads it out loud, her hand visibly shaking.
"Dear David, my heartiest congratulations to you and your lovely husband on the occasion of your wedding. I remember the time you played for me ten years ago at the 2008 Glamour Woman of the Year awards, my favorite song no less!
I have been delighted to watch, over the years, as your career went from strength to strength. I would love to have you both over at the House some time next quarter, and if you would play for Bill and me at our Thanksgiving Ball. Hillary.
PS: I'd expect you to sing that song at your wedding, though I'll forgive you for not thinking of me while you sang it."
Cook is sitting entirely still. His eyebrows have climbed to his hairline, which is quite a feat in itself.
Syesha, who is not a fan, mutters something along the lines of, "Oh, she's such a grandstanding bitch!" while Jason and Ramiele exchange excited high-fives. Arch doesn't know what to think; he's obviously honored that their President had seen fit to send them a congratulatory note, heck, he even voted for her, but he does think she may have been a little overly flattering to his new husband; he'll have to keep a close look-out on his man when they attend her Thanksgiving Ball.
Of course, encouraged by said presidential decree, Cook goes to get his acoustic guitar. At first Arch is slightly peeved, but that's before Cook starts to sing, and his rich, unfettered voice fills the hall:
The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and the empty skies, my love,
To the dark and the empty skies.
The first time ever I kissed your mouth
And felt your heart beat close to mine
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command, my love,
That was there at my command.
And the first time ever I lay with you
I felt your heart so close to mine
And I knew our joy would fill the earth
And last till the end of time, my love
It would last till the end of time, my love,
The first time ever I saw your face, your face, your face.
Arch figures it's okay to cry at your own wedding, especially when your husband is singing the most romantic song in the world to you and telling you your love will last till the end of time. Arch knows you can't take love for granted - the intervening years had brought that home to them in the most hurtful of ways - but the bare emotion in Cook's eyes tells him Cook is going to do everything in his power to make it so.
He reaches out when Cook's done, and holds Cook's strumming hand. "I knew, too, the first time I saw your face," he tells Cook, honestly. "Except we know it's not that easy."
Cook gives him that wry smile, the one he makes when he's trying not to cry himself. "I'm not sure," he says. "Maybe it is, maybe it is easy, and we just made things more complicated for ourselves. Y'know, I've held all those firsts in my heart, too, all these years. I loved you from the first moment I saw you, and every moment since."
Arch presses his fingers to his mouth for a second, and then takes Cook's guitar off his shoulder and puts it on Arch’s own chair. He gets into Cook's lap, cups Cook's face in his hands front of everyone, and kisses his first love, as if it's their very first time.
*
iv. Something Blue:
We've Come So Far
It began ... in 2008, with two boys sharing a stage. One piano, one guitar. One shared song, about heroes and salvation, and a year after, another song: an anthem for every day they were alive.
Then another song, and they made the choice to live together. The rollercoaster of life started for them, and it damaged them badly. They were too young then, and loved each other too passionately, for things to last.
There were other songs, afterwards, other notes out of key. Duets sung with other people: a wife, various girlfriends, a boy or three. The day the world fell down, and the music was lost to them for far too long.
And then an old song was sung ten years later, and at last they realized all it was they really needed.
It stays for the moment on Cook, on Archuleta, on their wedding night. Backlit in blue: outside a hazy summer midnight; inside, sounds that belong in the bluest of bordellos.
"I call half time," pants Cook, finally, pulling himself up on his forearms. The sweat is coming off him like rain, his blood's pounding in his veins, he's never felt more alive. "Seriously, Arch. You kill me on our first night of marriage, insurance will never pay out."
"Pssh," Arch says dismissively. He's breathing fast as well, slick limbs gleaming and bare in the moonlight. There's a ruin of silk and lace and flecks of wedding confetti on the floor. "Nobody ever died from too much sex! It's one of those urban myths."
"I can see your line of defense now," Cook murmurs, running his lower lip across the ridge of Archuleta's pink-brown areola, to which some confetti seems to have adhered. Arch makes a small groaning sound as Cook licks slowly from nipple to navel, and then lower. His thighs spread, his hands clutch in Cook's hair, either to pull him off or urge him on - Cook doesn't know which but he's eager to find out.
"That's so good. Cook, if you're gonna die from sex, you better take me with you."
"That sounds fair. I do believe it's your turn, Archuleta," says Cook, taking his new husband by the hips and turning him over. He takes a second to appreciate the way the light spills over Arch's perfect ass. Arch scissors and moans under his tongue, and when Cook's done with him the bed is a complete wreck.
"Y'know," Cook says conversationally, rolling off Arch and onto his back, trying to keep the smugness from his voice, "I thought wedding nights were supposed to be innocent. Something white and blushing and virginal."
"Never," Arch murmurs back, roughly, sitting up and catching his breath. He trails a hand along Cook's damp chest. "I know you, you’ll always prefer something blue. It’s your turn, now."
It ends on clouds, blue skies, a morning flight to Paris. Arch will sleep, curled against Cook's shoulder, and Cook will watch his dreaming face.
They'll walk those cobbled streets again hand in hand. This time, they'll pray together under the stained glass windows of the Sacre Coeur.
There will be tears as they visit Pierre Herme and Arch ties a blue ribbon on Cook's ring finger, over the circle of gold he'll wear until they're silver and sleeping in the earth side by side.
And they'll sit under a tree in Montmartre, and have an artist draw their picture again - of them in 2018, ten years after their story began.
/the beginning.