AU Fic: Rhapsody 3/4
Jan. 9th, 2012 08:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cloversworldSorry for the delay. I got distracted by this video and couldn't stop watching.
Rhapsody, 3/4
David Cook/ David Archuleta, PG-13
Main Header
Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
3—
Cook didn't know what the fuck he was doing but he winded up in New York City, wandering into Johns' Bar in the middle of the afternoon. The place was almost empty, save for a few customers. He climbed up on the stage and felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. He could almost hear the screams and whistles of the crowd – men and women asking for an encore.
He was so lost in his daydream that when someone said, "Can I help you?" he spun around, startled. Michael Johns stood at the edge of the stage looking almost exactly how he did when Cook last saw him.
"Mike!" Cook reached out for a handshake. "Remember me? Dave Cook? We used to play here."
The slight frown on Johns' face smoothened when he took Dave's hand and said, "Fuck, yeah man. It's been ages!" with a genial smile.
"Yeah, well," Cook started with a casual shrug, "my friends—former band mates had formed a new band and they told me they're playing here tomorrow night."
"Neal told me they're kinda hoping you'd join them," Johns said. "Come on. Beer's on the house. Tell me what you've been up to."
After a couple of beers, Cook left Johns' bar then aimlessly roamed around the city. His feet let him to Washington Square Park, guitar case bouncing against his hip. He lingered near the arch, memories from nine years in his past surging through him in waves. He was young then – full of silly hopes and dreams.
He couldn't help but think about David, indulging in the memories of a short-lived relationship that practically shaped him as a person back then. His friends thought it was absurd to let his life revolve around something so ephemeral. They would never understand. How could he explain that it felt like it was destiny that brought them together?
It was still early and the weather was friendlier than he could remember. He didn't want to go back to his hotel room yet so he thought he'd stick around, contemplate, figure out what he really, really wanted to do and all that shit. He could hear Neal's voice somewhere at the back of his head saying, "It's just one show, Dave. Then you can decide if you want to stick around or not."
Just one show. Somehow, Cook had a gut feeling that there would be repercussions if he were to succumb to Neal's bidding. Performing could be addictive, that he knew. But Cook certainly missed it.
The park was surprisingly crowded despite of the cold. Several patches of snow were scattered across the ground. He looked for a place to sit, found a bench near the fountain occupied only by one boy who was plucking on a guitar. Curious, Cook made his way over. "This seat taken?"
The boy looked up at him, eyes glinting against the sun. "Nah," he said, shaking his head. "You can sit if you want." The smile that manifested on the boy's lips was so coy that they reminded Cook of someone. The thought made Cook's heart skip but his journey down memory lane was interrupted when the boy resumed playing.
Maybe he expected to hear casual strumming or basic chords because the boy looked – what? – eight? Probably nine years old? But his jaw nearly dropped when he heard a series of complicated harmonic progression, something akin to twelve bar blues but with a unique touch.
Cook sank into the empty spot and stared. When the boy was done playing, all Cook could say was "wow" then he shook out of his trance to add, "You're good. No, not just good. You're amazing," with pure, unadulterated awe. "I mean that was really something." He settled his guitar case vertically against the bench's arm.
"Thanks." The boy's cheeks turned red, his dark hair falling in soft waves over his hazel – almost green eyes.
"I'm Dave," Cook said, offering his hand.
The boy shook his hand – warily, it seemed. "I'm AJ, um… that stands for Adam James," he said almost timidly. "You also play?" His eyes gestured at the guitar case.
"Yeah. Let me just…" Cook laid the case flat on the ground, unzipped it and pulled out his guitar. "Now. See if you know this." His fingers grazed the rough surface of the strings. What started out as meaningless variations bled into the opening chords of one of the songs that he had written. He hummed along, unwilling to let the words form and roll out of his lips because he knew singing would just stir up the familiar twinge this song often brought to his heart.
"I know that song!" AJ blurted after Cook had struck the last chord. "Paper Heart. It's from this indie group, Midwest Kings."
Cook's eyebrow shot up, unable to hide his sudden incredulity. "You know them?"
"Yeah." AJ nodded with the common enthusiasm of a child. "My friend Daniel had this CD he stole—" He caught his tongue between his teeth and hesitated before he spoke again. "Well… he had this CD and we listened to it every night when I was still staying at the warehouse."
"Warehouse?" That was when it occurred to Cook what a child as young as AJ doing in the park. Alone. "Where are your parents?"
There was the obvious guarded look that swept past AJ's eyes. "Don't have any. I grew up in an orphanage. No one could tell me who or where my parents are." The words weren't weighed with sadness but with a wistful hope instead. "But I know they're still alive. I can feel it. That's why I ran away from the orphanage. To look for them," he babbled then slapped his hand over his mouth.
Alarmed and worried, Cook asked, "How old are you anyway?"
"Eight." AJ's face was painted with dread. "Please don't turn me in, Mr. Dave. I don't want to go back to the orphanage. I just… I just want to find my parents." The sight made Cook's heart ache.
"Alright." Cook sighed in resignation. "But I don't think you should be living in a warehouse—"
"I don't live there anymore!" AJ exclaimed. "I um… I actually escaped two weeks ago because Simon – the man who looked after us kids just wanted to use us to beg for money or steal and…" AJ's gaze fell to the ground, his shoulders slumping.
Chilly air blew past them, prompting Cook to pull his beanie down. "Why don't we get out of the cold? You hungry?" he asked and laughed when AJ's face lit up like he was saying 'yes, yes, yes!' so Cook took him to the nearest McDonald's.
"Where are you staying now?" Cook inquired as casually as he could when he was halfway through his Big Mac sandwich.
"Julliard."
Cook lifted an eyebrow, wondering if he heard it right.
AJ must've caught his reaction because the most outrageous story came barreling out of his mouth. "When I uh… when I ran away from Simon, I hid in the church. A-and Pastor Randy took me in, taught me more about music and later he said I have this special gift. That I um… I can learn to play an instrument in less than an hour. So he—he brought me to Julliard and now…" AJ trailed off, seemingly studying Cook's face with a doe-eyed countenance.
"So because you're gifted, you got into Julliard? Even if you're only eight?" Cook did his best not to sound too skeptical.
"Mhmm," AJ hummed around a mouthful of sandwich.
"What were you doing in the park then? Aren't you supposed to be in school?"
Something crossed AJ's face that Cook couldn't read. "They um," he started, uncertainty defining his profile, "they—the um, New York Philharmonic Orchestra wanted to play the rhapsody I wrote for the Christmas at the Park concert."
"You wrote a rhapsody?" Cook couldn't hide his disbelief this time. "And THE New York Philharmonic Orchestra wants to play it at a concert?"
AJ nodded and dug into his hot fudge sundae. "They um… they also asked me to conduct the orchestra and I sort of got scared," he said after swallowing a particularly large serving of the ice cream. "So I took off and went to the park. To think."
"Okay." Cook was somewhere between wanting to believe this kid and wanting to throw himself in front of a moving truck for wanting to believe this kid. "And what are you going to do now?" he asked, uncertain where this conversation was going.
"I don't know." AJ met his gaze and Cook could see the trepidation undulating on AJ's eyes.
Cook thought, fuck! Whether this boy was telling the truth or not, Cook couldn't ignore the flash of a moment when he saw himself on the boy, saw the hesitation and fear and worry and everything else he felt about going back to the stage.
"Listen," Cook said, finally making a crucial decision that could turn his life around. "It's normal to feel scared, especially when you're about to do something you haven't done before or something you haven't done in a long time. Just think about what you love the most. I suppose you love music." AJ gave a curt nod but remained quiet. "Well just think about how much you love music above everything else and you wouldn't even notice your fears or worries or anything that's holding you back."
Cook made a mental note that he should follow his own advice. It was almost dark when they parted. AJ declined Cook's offer to walk him back to wherever he needed to go. He just took off, yelling, "Thanks for dinner, Mr. Dave!" and leaving Cook wondering if he would ever see AJ again.
**********
"Any word?" David was on the edge of his seat, when Kris – the social worker who had been helping him find his son walked in.
When David arrived in New York a month earlier, the first thing he did was head straight to the orphanage where his dad sent his son.
"I asked them to call him Adam James," his dad had said. "Adam because I know that was the name you wanted to give him." David didn't explain the reason behind it, didn't tell his dad that he planned to name his son after the brother Cook lost. "And James because I thought he should have something from you, your second name at least," his dad had added.
David learned though that his son ran away two weeks before David arrived.
"I don't wanna give you any false hope, but we might have a lead," Kris said. The chair behind his desk squeaked when he took a seat. "Last week, the pastor from the nearby church brought a boy, about eight years of age, to Julliard."
"Julliard?" David wondered what this information had to do with his son.
"Yeah, I know it sounds weird. But the boy's description matches your son's and he turns out to be some musical prodigy." Kris leaned forward, crossing his arms on his table as if he was daring David to scoff or maybe say something but David just worried his lower lip and waited for Kris to continue.
"Julliard refuses to release any information so I just got this bit from the girl I'm dating who works at the school," Kris explained. "She knows AJ was sort of my protégé at the orphanage, knows that I've been looking for him since he ran away. So she called me when the news about a child prodigy at school reached her. She hasn't seen the boy but she asked someone to describe him and all she knows was they call him Adam. I figured it was either a phenomenal coincidence or the boy she was talking about is your son. She promised to dig further and will call me as soon as she finds out anything."
David left the social service office with a tiny flame of hope flickering inside him. He called Jordin to share the news and she was ecstatic but she coaxed him to relax, saying, "Why don't you try to focus on rehearsing for the concert tomorrow and maybe you'll hear some good news after that."
The concert. David wasn't sure if agreeing to perform at the Christmas concert in Central Park was a smart decision but Jordin was persistent. And she went through all the trouble getting him a spot so he couldn't find it in his heart to turn her down.
Besides, thinking too much about his son would drive him insane so David needed a little distraction.
The next day, David could feel the metaphorical butterflies fluttering inside his belly, not because he was nervous about the concert—okay, maybe half of it was because of the concert—but mostly because he was eager to hear what Kris had learned from his girlfriend.
"I'll just see you at the concert tonight, David," was all Kris said over the phone. David couldn't dang wait.
Part 4...
Rhapsody, 3/4
David Cook/ David Archuleta, PG-13
Main Header
Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
3—
Cook didn't know what the fuck he was doing but he winded up in New York City, wandering into Johns' Bar in the middle of the afternoon. The place was almost empty, save for a few customers. He climbed up on the stage and felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. He could almost hear the screams and whistles of the crowd – men and women asking for an encore.
He was so lost in his daydream that when someone said, "Can I help you?" he spun around, startled. Michael Johns stood at the edge of the stage looking almost exactly how he did when Cook last saw him.
"Mike!" Cook reached out for a handshake. "Remember me? Dave Cook? We used to play here."
The slight frown on Johns' face smoothened when he took Dave's hand and said, "Fuck, yeah man. It's been ages!" with a genial smile.
"Yeah, well," Cook started with a casual shrug, "my friends—former band mates had formed a new band and they told me they're playing here tomorrow night."
"Neal told me they're kinda hoping you'd join them," Johns said. "Come on. Beer's on the house. Tell me what you've been up to."
After a couple of beers, Cook left Johns' bar then aimlessly roamed around the city. His feet let him to Washington Square Park, guitar case bouncing against his hip. He lingered near the arch, memories from nine years in his past surging through him in waves. He was young then – full of silly hopes and dreams.
He couldn't help but think about David, indulging in the memories of a short-lived relationship that practically shaped him as a person back then. His friends thought it was absurd to let his life revolve around something so ephemeral. They would never understand. How could he explain that it felt like it was destiny that brought them together?
It was still early and the weather was friendlier than he could remember. He didn't want to go back to his hotel room yet so he thought he'd stick around, contemplate, figure out what he really, really wanted to do and all that shit. He could hear Neal's voice somewhere at the back of his head saying, "It's just one show, Dave. Then you can decide if you want to stick around or not."
Just one show. Somehow, Cook had a gut feeling that there would be repercussions if he were to succumb to Neal's bidding. Performing could be addictive, that he knew. But Cook certainly missed it.
The park was surprisingly crowded despite of the cold. Several patches of snow were scattered across the ground. He looked for a place to sit, found a bench near the fountain occupied only by one boy who was plucking on a guitar. Curious, Cook made his way over. "This seat taken?"
The boy looked up at him, eyes glinting against the sun. "Nah," he said, shaking his head. "You can sit if you want." The smile that manifested on the boy's lips was so coy that they reminded Cook of someone. The thought made Cook's heart skip but his journey down memory lane was interrupted when the boy resumed playing.
Maybe he expected to hear casual strumming or basic chords because the boy looked – what? – eight? Probably nine years old? But his jaw nearly dropped when he heard a series of complicated harmonic progression, something akin to twelve bar blues but with a unique touch.
Cook sank into the empty spot and stared. When the boy was done playing, all Cook could say was "wow" then he shook out of his trance to add, "You're good. No, not just good. You're amazing," with pure, unadulterated awe. "I mean that was really something." He settled his guitar case vertically against the bench's arm.
"Thanks." The boy's cheeks turned red, his dark hair falling in soft waves over his hazel – almost green eyes.
"I'm Dave," Cook said, offering his hand.
The boy shook his hand – warily, it seemed. "I'm AJ, um… that stands for Adam James," he said almost timidly. "You also play?" His eyes gestured at the guitar case.
"Yeah. Let me just…" Cook laid the case flat on the ground, unzipped it and pulled out his guitar. "Now. See if you know this." His fingers grazed the rough surface of the strings. What started out as meaningless variations bled into the opening chords of one of the songs that he had written. He hummed along, unwilling to let the words form and roll out of his lips because he knew singing would just stir up the familiar twinge this song often brought to his heart.
"I know that song!" AJ blurted after Cook had struck the last chord. "Paper Heart. It's from this indie group, Midwest Kings."
Cook's eyebrow shot up, unable to hide his sudden incredulity. "You know them?"
"Yeah." AJ nodded with the common enthusiasm of a child. "My friend Daniel had this CD he stole—" He caught his tongue between his teeth and hesitated before he spoke again. "Well… he had this CD and we listened to it every night when I was still staying at the warehouse."
"Warehouse?" That was when it occurred to Cook what a child as young as AJ doing in the park. Alone. "Where are your parents?"
There was the obvious guarded look that swept past AJ's eyes. "Don't have any. I grew up in an orphanage. No one could tell me who or where my parents are." The words weren't weighed with sadness but with a wistful hope instead. "But I know they're still alive. I can feel it. That's why I ran away from the orphanage. To look for them," he babbled then slapped his hand over his mouth.
Alarmed and worried, Cook asked, "How old are you anyway?"
"Eight." AJ's face was painted with dread. "Please don't turn me in, Mr. Dave. I don't want to go back to the orphanage. I just… I just want to find my parents." The sight made Cook's heart ache.
"Alright." Cook sighed in resignation. "But I don't think you should be living in a warehouse—"
"I don't live there anymore!" AJ exclaimed. "I um… I actually escaped two weeks ago because Simon – the man who looked after us kids just wanted to use us to beg for money or steal and…" AJ's gaze fell to the ground, his shoulders slumping.
Chilly air blew past them, prompting Cook to pull his beanie down. "Why don't we get out of the cold? You hungry?" he asked and laughed when AJ's face lit up like he was saying 'yes, yes, yes!' so Cook took him to the nearest McDonald's.
"Where are you staying now?" Cook inquired as casually as he could when he was halfway through his Big Mac sandwich.
"Julliard."
Cook lifted an eyebrow, wondering if he heard it right.
AJ must've caught his reaction because the most outrageous story came barreling out of his mouth. "When I uh… when I ran away from Simon, I hid in the church. A-and Pastor Randy took me in, taught me more about music and later he said I have this special gift. That I um… I can learn to play an instrument in less than an hour. So he—he brought me to Julliard and now…" AJ trailed off, seemingly studying Cook's face with a doe-eyed countenance.
"So because you're gifted, you got into Julliard? Even if you're only eight?" Cook did his best not to sound too skeptical.
"Mhmm," AJ hummed around a mouthful of sandwich.
"What were you doing in the park then? Aren't you supposed to be in school?"
Something crossed AJ's face that Cook couldn't read. "They um," he started, uncertainty defining his profile, "they—the um, New York Philharmonic Orchestra wanted to play the rhapsody I wrote for the Christmas at the Park concert."
"You wrote a rhapsody?" Cook couldn't hide his disbelief this time. "And THE New York Philharmonic Orchestra wants to play it at a concert?"
AJ nodded and dug into his hot fudge sundae. "They um… they also asked me to conduct the orchestra and I sort of got scared," he said after swallowing a particularly large serving of the ice cream. "So I took off and went to the park. To think."
"Okay." Cook was somewhere between wanting to believe this kid and wanting to throw himself in front of a moving truck for wanting to believe this kid. "And what are you going to do now?" he asked, uncertain where this conversation was going.
"I don't know." AJ met his gaze and Cook could see the trepidation undulating on AJ's eyes.
Cook thought, fuck! Whether this boy was telling the truth or not, Cook couldn't ignore the flash of a moment when he saw himself on the boy, saw the hesitation and fear and worry and everything else he felt about going back to the stage.
"Listen," Cook said, finally making a crucial decision that could turn his life around. "It's normal to feel scared, especially when you're about to do something you haven't done before or something you haven't done in a long time. Just think about what you love the most. I suppose you love music." AJ gave a curt nod but remained quiet. "Well just think about how much you love music above everything else and you wouldn't even notice your fears or worries or anything that's holding you back."
Cook made a mental note that he should follow his own advice. It was almost dark when they parted. AJ declined Cook's offer to walk him back to wherever he needed to go. He just took off, yelling, "Thanks for dinner, Mr. Dave!" and leaving Cook wondering if he would ever see AJ again.
**********
"Any word?" David was on the edge of his seat, when Kris – the social worker who had been helping him find his son walked in.
When David arrived in New York a month earlier, the first thing he did was head straight to the orphanage where his dad sent his son.
"I asked them to call him Adam James," his dad had said. "Adam because I know that was the name you wanted to give him." David didn't explain the reason behind it, didn't tell his dad that he planned to name his son after the brother Cook lost. "And James because I thought he should have something from you, your second name at least," his dad had added.
David learned though that his son ran away two weeks before David arrived.
"I don't wanna give you any false hope, but we might have a lead," Kris said. The chair behind his desk squeaked when he took a seat. "Last week, the pastor from the nearby church brought a boy, about eight years of age, to Julliard."
"Julliard?" David wondered what this information had to do with his son.
"Yeah, I know it sounds weird. But the boy's description matches your son's and he turns out to be some musical prodigy." Kris leaned forward, crossing his arms on his table as if he was daring David to scoff or maybe say something but David just worried his lower lip and waited for Kris to continue.
"Julliard refuses to release any information so I just got this bit from the girl I'm dating who works at the school," Kris explained. "She knows AJ was sort of my protégé at the orphanage, knows that I've been looking for him since he ran away. So she called me when the news about a child prodigy at school reached her. She hasn't seen the boy but she asked someone to describe him and all she knows was they call him Adam. I figured it was either a phenomenal coincidence or the boy she was talking about is your son. She promised to dig further and will call me as soon as she finds out anything."
David left the social service office with a tiny flame of hope flickering inside him. He called Jordin to share the news and she was ecstatic but she coaxed him to relax, saying, "Why don't you try to focus on rehearsing for the concert tomorrow and maybe you'll hear some good news after that."
The concert. David wasn't sure if agreeing to perform at the Christmas concert in Central Park was a smart decision but Jordin was persistent. And she went through all the trouble getting him a spot so he couldn't find it in his heart to turn her down.
Besides, thinking too much about his son would drive him insane so David needed a little distraction.
The next day, David could feel the metaphorical butterflies fluttering inside his belly, not because he was nervous about the concert—okay, maybe half of it was because of the concert—but mostly because he was eager to hear what Kris had learned from his girlfriend.
"I'll just see you at the concert tonight, David," was all Kris said over the phone. David couldn't dang wait.
Part 4...