labyrinth2015 | News 3, plus Future Fic 13: All I Really Need Is You

labyrinth2015

You guys, I'm working my International Woman of Mystery persona for a flying overseas work trip. As such, mini-hiatus until the weekend. Hopefully everyone will be good now. Clio, I'll get to your song thingies then, promise!

Title: All I Really Need Is You

Chapter: One – All These Years
Pairing: David/David
Rating: This part is PG. Warning: Angst
Summary: Cook and Archie meet again at the 2018 Grammys.

Acknowledgement: The BoUH’s 2018 name courtesy of the fabulous girl-sleuthing skills of motherendurance. Thanks, bb – GoUH unite!

Disclaimer: Not-for-profit absolute work of fiction; fair use of any copyright material; no assertions or imputations as to the actual, real-world characters or inclinations of any living individuals, or actual events, intended. Picture, if you will, said individuals as mere actors in this fic. Will remove this without prejudice if a cease and desist notice is issued.

All I Really Need Is You

Part One: All These Years

Stars, of the celestial and human variety, from all across the globe, from the four corners of the music and entertainment industry, are gathered together this special night for the 2018 Grammy Awards!

Cook settles back in his plush VIP seat at the head of the firmament, in the newly refurbished and palatial Nokia-Bank of America theatre. He'll be thirty-six this year, and although his hair has thinned somewhat, he's concluded, from having stared critically at his reflection in the mirror a couple of hours ago, after the stylists had left, that he's never looked better, the leanness of his dark Armani tux emphasizing his tall, athletic form, with its carefully acquired power yoga and kick-boxing muscles, and the craggy lines of age etched into his bony, flawless face.

Neal's his date, tonight, looking a little dour in a tux and skinny tie. Cook was going to bring Natasha, whom he'd been dating on and off for the last couple of months, but they'd had an altercation last week over matching tour schedules, and she'd stormed out of his bedroom in high dudgeon, clutching her clothes to her chest as she went, and though he'd gone after her, as was expected of him, they both knew his heart wasn't in it.

So, dateless tonight; which was a pity, because he was looking rather fine, Neal not counting in that respect in the least, of course, having been disgustingly and unexpectedly happily married for the last five years to lovely Linda, the director of the band's patient and reliable stage crew.

In any case, Cook doesn’t have long to muse about his dateless status, since there’s of course the usual milling crowd of music's stars around them, styling their designer finery and post-millennium bling. A stream of them, especially the newbie songbirds like Anna Martin, Kingston Rossdale and the youngest Federline kid, have actually stopped by to pay their respects. It seems it’s because he's an old hand now; he'd survived in the industry for ten years, with five albums under his belt and a brace of movie credits to his name, and his newest album, his comeback album after his lost Hollywood years, is actually nominated tonight for the Grammy for Album of the Year.

"Yeah, tonight we're playing the Neil Diamond cover off Forever," Cook tells Anna, who is looking as skinny and gorgeous as her famous mother, in a glittering dress that looks like it’s made from a million little shards of glass.

The kid glances at Neal, who's remained resolutely seated throughout this conversation and is eyeing her with some suspicion. "Um, your band is back together?" she asks Cook in her soft drawl.

"Yeah." Cook nudges Neal. "You know the lead guitarist, Neal Tiemann? Be nice, big guy."

Neal grudgingly proffers his hand, and Anna asks him, slightly more perceptively than he'd have expected, "So, you fellas settled with this name now, then?"

Cook knows Neal is trying not to roll his eyes; ten years on and the guys haven't managed to ditch the name-changing rap that they'd acquired since they were the nameless band which fans had dubbed the Band of Ultimate Hotness.

"Think we'll stay with Quintain for a while," Neal says neutrally.

"Cool. I like that name, sounds like a funky metal," says Anna, and Neal really does roll his eyes this time.

Cook thinks it's best he comes to the teenager's rescue before Neal makes some remark about the fact that Anna’s former name actually was that of an organic fruit, taking her elbow and kissing her quickly on the cheek.

"Catch you later, kiddo, it looks like show's gonna start. We're up in the end slot, after the third interval, look out for us then."

"Kay," she says, trailing away, and Cook makes a face at Neal and turns to take his seat again.

When, suddenly, who should be at his side this time but David Archuleta, award-winning pop sensation, loved by all America, and once so loved by him: looking all of his twenty-eight shining years, gorgeous and dashing in his evening tux, the crisp white collar and black bow tie framing his beautiful face.

Smiling the incandescent smile which had first drawn Cook to him, those ten long years ago.

"Hi, Cook," David says, and it seems that the sight of him, all of a sudden, has actually taken Cook's breath away, because he's having actual difficulty responding, and it's a good thing David turns his attention to Neal, who gets to his feet and gives David a hug.

"Neal, how are you?"

"Davey, been a while. I'm good, you?"

"Great! Hey, congratulations on the album," says David, and as they start chatting, Cook wants to slap Neal for monopolising his ex-boyfriend, whom he'd last seen walking away from him exactly one and a half excruciating years ago; then Cook kind of wants to slap himself, for having let David go.

"Hey, I didn't know you'd be here," Cook says, when Neal finally lets go, and Archuleta turns to him, smiling the smile that kills him. "You look great," and Cook means it: Archuleta looks amazing, his skin and eyes more luminous than ever, his face serene and lovely under the artful shock of dark hair, in the tall and windblown prime of his life.

"So do you," David says, reaching out and gently touching Cook's lapel, which bears the silver cleft insignia of Cook's brain cancer research fund. "Congratulations too, by the way. I had a change of schedule, and decided to come see you guys play. The new album is so awesome."

"I should have sent you a copy," Cook says, and then kicks himself for the lame-ass comment.

"I bought one myself! From a record store, seriously," says Archuleta, his eyes shining with amusement.

"You shouldn't have had to do that. I'd've sent you a copy. I’d’ve sent a dozen copies," and Cook figures he needs to set his mouth switch to off, it would have been less embarrassing, and he isn't sure he likes the role reversal, because he is used to being the cool, articulate one, of their dynamic duo.

But of course, those years are long gone, and David Archuleta has long grown, from the shy, stammering boy he’d loved, to this calm, centered man that he’d loved even more, God damn it.

"For old times' sake?" murmurs David, and a there's a glint of something darker, something dangerous, in his eyes, and, hello, old love: there's that familiar stab of pain in Cook's heart.

"No. Not for that, David. Because," Cook swallows, "because I thought you'd like it. I know you thought the album before this was crap, and I kind of agree, but I thought you'd like this one."

Archuleta smiles his genuine, unclouded smile, then, at that. "Did I actually tell you American Voices was crap? When did I do that?"

That time we tried to make it work in L.A., in 2015, but I was too messed up to make you stay, thinks Cook, and the pain is so acute he needs a second to respond.

Which he does, in a voice he recognises as pleasantly casual; after all, he's become a pretty good actor, and insiders have tipped him for a Golden Globe nod for his supporting role as Steve Fayden, the guitar virtuoso who needed a new face, in last month's sleeper hit movie Nocturne, based on Kazuo Ishiguro's novella Five Stories of Music and Nightfall, starring Hugh Jackman in the title role as throaty-voiced crooner Tony Gardner.

"David, even Rolling Stone thought AV was crap. Called me a sell out, a has-been, remember?"

Archuleta laughs softly. "Well, Cook, I guess you've showed them", he says, and brings his hand up to touch Cook again. His left hand is now ringless, after years of marriage to the doe-eyed publicity executive who'd later become part of his entourage, and after that, who'd given him a child. Over now, in what to all accounts was a fairly amicable separation and divorce, prior to their episode in LA, so many years ago.

It's impossible for Cook not to touch Archuleta in his turn, and so he takes David's hand, gently, and holds it in his own ringless one. "So, tell me, how is your little guy?"

"Jamie? He's growing so fast. I’m going to have him come staying with me for the summer. He's going to be in preschool this year, or next; doesn't time fly?"

Archuleta grins, and Cook smiles back, and then the lights are flashing to signal the start of the show.

The two of them stand there and watch the stage lights come up and the music starts to play, and this year's Grammy host Ryan Seacrest bounces onstage, to the accompaniment of a dozen dancing girls in sequinned 20's dresses and big headpieces, and a shower of sparkly falling lights.

Ryan is as blond and perky as ever, and only slightly wrinklier around the eyes. When he looks out to wave at the crowd, he sees his Idol Season 7 winner and runner up standing together in the VIP row in front of him, and he makes finger guns at them, "Hey guys!", before launching into his emcee routine, and David mouths to Cook, "Look, I better go."

Cook thinks it's ridiculous to be clutching David's hand like this, standing on the red carpet with Seacrest and dancing girls as backdrop, but his heart is full of the sound of David's voice, the brightness of David's smile, and he mutters to his old love, hardly knowing what he's saying, "Look, will you come look for me? Later, maybe at the after party? You know, if you want to."

Archuleta's eyes, in the darkness beyond Seacrest's stage, are completely unreadable.

The hesitation cuts straight to the quick, because Cook knows exactly what's put it there, and there's no acting chops in the world that would have disguised how that hurts.

Then David nods, firmly, and says, "Okay." and squeezes Cook's hand before he lets go.

"Okay," repeats Cook, limp with relief, and David disappears up the red carpet.

Cook sinks back into his seat, his heart pounding unconscionably. It's only David that has ever done this to him, in all the long decade he's been in this industry: David Archuleta, and no one else.

Beside him, Neal's gaze is dark, glittering, and Cook fancies, somewhat accusing: Neal has always been fond of Archuleta, and possibly has an opinion regarding Cook's past conduct toward him, although they've never talked about this, before. But all Neal says, now, is, "Sound check in half an hour, Dave."

Cook nods, tersely, and tries to tell himself that he's fine, even though Seacrest's hosting babble washes so incomprehensibly over him it might as well have been in ancient Greek.

He's able to reflexively smile his trademark wry, ironic smile for the cameras, when they swing around to fix themselves on him, his hindbrain automatically cueing him at Ryan's introduction ("And of course we have Mr David Cook in the house, with his newly reformed band - they're calling themselves Quintain these days, ladies and gentlemen, but I remember those early days when they were the Kyle Peek Band, ha ha ha!"), and beside him, Neal's glaring threateningly into the camera, which plays up on the big screens overhead and amuses him momentarily.

Then, Ryan's saying, "And David's of course up for Album of the Year tonight, with Edge of Forever, a strong contender in this category, with a return for our 2008 Idol to his rock roots," and the producers are doing that awards-show thing (Cook thought they only did that for the Oscars, but it seems everything is retro and formal tonight, just like the black tie dress code that is giving Neal such issues) where they play this snippet from the nominees' albums.

And the snippet that they play is from "All I Really Need Is You", that Neil Diamond cover which Cook had first made his ten years ago, when he was still a struggling nobody on the biggest reality TV show in the western world, and Cook's own voice comes over the theatre speakers, filled with the time and the yearning of the entire past fucking decade:

"After all these years

After all these tears between us

Still I couldn't find

Someone half as right as you..."

And just like that, tonight, the clasp of Archuleta's hand still warm against his skin, the past comes stealthily back to embrace Cook, like an old lover whom he'd never managed to leave behind.

(To be continued - Part Two: All These Tears)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

tagalongcookies.livejournal.com

This is a cool future!fic concept, most future!fics that I've seen have the boys a little younger. I like that they are older, here, clearly more mature, but that they still clearly retain threads of who they used to be. The characterization and writing is impeccable and I can't wait to read more :)

From:

jehane-writes.livejournal.com

Thank you so much! The song, which discusses a long relationship spanning many years, prompted this Cookleta 2018 outing. We're flashing back to 2009 for the next part, with Future!Cook's trip down memory lane - hope you're along for the ride ;)

From:

asweetdownfall.livejournal.com

GLEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. YOU POSTED IT. *flails*

All I can say is that I LOVEEEE this fic. So much angst! And David has a kid! And Cook was an idiot! And Neal knows all! :P Okay, seriously, though. I adore the premise, the characterizations, the gorgeous writing..everything. (And can I just say that I freaking love this line: , because he is used to being the cool, articulate one, of their dynamic duo. Haha, trust Archie to be the one to make Cook all inarticulate. :P)

And I can't wait for the second part. *g*

Have a safe and wonderful trip! That's an order, not a request.

From:

jehane-writes.livejournal.com

I'm glad it's making you flail, my dear. This one actually has a plot and plot details, God help it. Did you see the little guest stars I made? I think I have a plan to link Cook with all the famous blonde singers/actresses in the western world.

Aww, thank you, babe. Off for the airport in half an hour.

...though we share the same city, and feel the same sun...

News 3, plus Future Fic 13: All I Really Need Is You

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