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He ran into the room and got on his knees beside him. The agent was pale, chest heaving horribly, but his eyes were open. He pressed one hand to the wound to at least slow down the bleeding, and instinctively grabbed his shoulder with the other.
“Harry.” Cooper’s voice came out in a pained whisper.
“We got you. HAWK! Call emergency!”
His deputy had already been radioing the station, but Harry was reacting on autopilot. His mind had gone blank.
“We got you. It’s alright.” He repeated, mostly to steady himself. This was not what they were expecting when Andy alerted them of possible “trouble” at the Great Northern.
He watched his own hand move up from Cooper’s shoulder to his face, while the younger man struggled to keep his breathing even. He caressed his forehead, trying to soothe him. The skin was unnaturally cold.
“He’s freezing.” He looked up at Hawk as he spoke, barely registering anything. A heavy blanket was laid on Cooper’s legs. Hawk had also found a towel and was handing it to him for the wound.
Cooper winced at the contact, but then he smiled.
“I appreciate your concern, gentlemen.”
“Save your strength Coop. Just keep breathing.”
Cooper raised a shaky hand in his usual please-let-me-finish fashion. Harry took it in his own instead, seeing the awkwardness of it one second too late. The agent gave him an amused look, but didn’t let go.
“The giant was here. Took my ring. He had three…hints, he said…”
The whispers became inaudible. Harry shushed him gently and tightened his grip. He couldn’t force himself to care about weird apparitions, not with Cooper’s blood seeping through his fingers and Hawk, now somewhere behind them, managing the panicked guests who had heard the commotion. He felt exhausted.
He noticed how Cooper already looked paler than a few moments before, lips turning purple, and his chest tightened. His whole world was shrinking down to the weight of the cold hand in his, the smell of blood mixing with pinewood. The agent suddenly closed his eyes and it made him want to scream.
“Stay with me Coop.” He urged. “Listen to me, you’ve gotta hold on, okay?”
If the man made a sound, he couldn’t hear it over Hawk’s voice, who was now shouting orders at their officers and the hotel’s night staff equally. Through the window he could see blue lights flash onto the trees. “They’re almost here, Coop. Hold on.”
No reaction. He pressed harder on his stomach, only to feel that the towel was soaked and useless. He tried sliding the hand that was still holding Cooper’s down to his wrist, but couldn’t find his pulse with that weird angle. A sudden wave of fear threatened to take over his mind. He let go of his wrist and cupped his face instead.
“Cooper, I swear if you die on me I’m handing over my badge. Bet Agent Rosenfield’s gonna like that.”
Cooper smiled weakly, although his eyes remained closed. A single tear rolled down his profile and onto Harry’s fingers.
“Harry, you’re alright.” He whispered.
Harry felt his whole body swell up with the urge to cry.
More noise behind them, footsteps approaching.
He kept his eyes fixed on Cooper until they wheeled him away. Only then, he let Hawk help him up from the floor. He washed his hands without looking in the mirror.
It was still dark outside. The sparse street lamps around the hotel formed an orange, low glare, all too similar to the one of room 315. The adrenaline had started to subside and it was leaving him slightly shaky, but walking in the cold air helped. They climbed into the police truck in complete silence. Harry leaned on the steering wheel with his head on his forearms, breathing slowly.
“You okay there?” Hawk's voice was low, cautious.
He felt a firm hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll be fine. Thanks. Sorry for being useless earlier, I don’t know what got into me.”
“You care about him.”
It wasn’t a question. After more than two decades, Hawk rarely needed them. Harry sighed deeply, then lifted his head just enough to look at him.
“How are you holding up?”
“Fine. I just hope there’s no more surprises for the night. The air smells funny.”
Harry slowly sat up straight at that. Hawk opened the window to observe the clouded sky above them but didn’t elaborate, he just gestured at him that he could start driving. The engine roared to life and they headed towards Calhoun Memorial.
A few minutes in, he started to smell it too: it was a lot, and closer than usual wildfires.
“This can’t be happening now.” He let out another sigh. The image of Cooper not opening his eyes again was still at the forefront of his mind, making it hard to think, or even care, about anything else.
As soon as their radio picked up the emergency dispatch call, Hawk took it. Without commenting on it, Harry pulled over in front of the station. His deputy jumped out, turned to look at him, and slid his right finger down his cheek. Slightly comforted, he returned the signal and drove off.
Once at the hospital, Harry had the impulse to concentrate very hard on waking up. He kept closing his eyes and opening them again but nothing changed: fluorescent lights were still buzzing over his head in an empty waiting room. Sometimes, agitated voices would come from down the hallway and fade away again. He had no idea what time it was and what could be happening.
He just sat, leaning on the wall behind him, waiting to see if he was going to wake up in his bed or his office chair. He was starting to feel trapped and to worry about the time.
Eventually, he heard footsteps approaching on his left.
“The mill is under control, ol’ Pete and Shelly Johnson were just brought here. Coop still under?” Hawk’s voice was raucous.
“Yeah.” They exchanged a disheartened look, before Harry’s brain actually caught up with the whole sentence. “Wait. Did you say Shelly Johnson?”
Hawk just nodded.
He genuinely wanted to believe he was dreaming, because it felt each moment more likely, but his friend’s presence anchored him down a bit. Just enough to give up on squeezing his eyes again.
“What the hell?” He groaned under his breath. “and where…?”
Josie’s name got painfully stuck in his throat.
Hawk sat down next to him and opened a small bag. “Beats me.” He muttered. He pulled out a thermos, and started pouring hot coffee. The scent gave them a much appreciated break from the pervasive smells of disinfectant and ashy clothes. He took a swig and passed it to Harry.
“Andy made it at the station.” He explained. “I sent him to check the Johnson’s house now.”
“God bless that man.”
A few more hours later, Cooper was up and dressed, much to Doctor Hayward’s dismay.
He practically inhaled his first cherry pie and asked for seconds. He was already listing his plans, in between mouthfuls, for dealing with the aftermath of that night’s pandemonium. All Harry was paying attention to were the dark circles around his eyes, and how stiff every movement was. They had to opt for a booth instead of the high stools and he had helped him take off his coat.
He knew he couldn’t be looking much better than Cooper: he wasn’t sure he had slept through his daze, collapsed on that plastic hospital chair with only his hat shielding him from the lights. He didn’t have much appetite either, so observing Cooper’s handsome face was a welcome distraction. His lips were a healthy color again.
“Are you following, Harry?”
The agent’s voice brought him back to reality. He sighed. Lying to Special Agent Cooper wasn’t exactly an option.
“Sorry. I got distracted. Coop, you know I’m glad you’re working with us,-”
“Same for me.”
He nodded, “but are we, uhm, gonna ignore the fact that you almost died eight hours ago?”
Cooper seemed unfazed.
“Well actually, I didn’t, see most of my bulletproof vest was still in place when I opened the door, and-”
“I know, I know. But I’ve been around guns longer than you so you’re gonna have to trust me. You’re lucky we got there when we did.” FBI training be damned, this was his territory. Except Cooper still didn’t look impressed, and grinned at him after swallowing a piece of pie.
“Are you calling yourself old, Sheriff?”
“I am calling you a city slicker. Don’t try to tell me the Boy Scouts of America go on hunting trips for their summer activities.”
Cooper laughed in his coffee. He set the cup down with care before answering.
“No, as a matter of fact, they don’t. They do have safety drills though, and as an Eagle Scout I was required preparedness in every type of emergency.”
“Yeah…” Harry went back to his untouched breakfast. Eagle Scout, alright. This man really couldn’t do anything without being perfect.
“Harry.” Cooper’s voice had dropped an octave.
He looked up and was met with a very different smile this time. It was more subtle, and there was a tenderness there that hadn’t been on Cooper’s face in a while.
“I don’t want you to worry about my wellbeing. That’s the last thing you need with everything that’s going on here.”
“Too late.”
He had spat it out harsher than he meant to. Cooper was visibly taken aback but didn’t avert his eyes. Harry inhaled sharply. The usual crowd of the Double R wasn’t paying attention to them, save for a curious look here and there for the out of towner, but he looked around to check anyway.
Cooper kept watching the nervousness in his demeanour, clearly weighing his next words, while Harry drank his coffee to keep himself occupied. The whole situation felt horrendously wrong, he still felt sleepy, the diner claustrophobic, he needed a break and he couldn’t believe his colleague didn’t. When Cooper finally spoke, he sounded deflated.
“I am aware that our relationship has gone outside the boundaries of a professional collaboration, and I am immensely grateful for that. Do not ever think I don’t appreciate your company, Harry, because I do and I have the highest respect for you, not only as a lawman but as a human being.” He paused. “However, personal feelings might cloud our judgment when brought into an active investigation. You have a whole town to take care of, considering that, from what I’ve seen, the Sheriff here is more than a simple bureaucrat;” Harry conceded a shy smile “-and I am your superior. What happens to me in the line of duty cannot be your responsibility.”
They were both looking at the table between them. Cooper’s hands were gripping his cup a bit tight. Smooth, clean hands. He felt dripping on his own, looked down, but they were clean too.
“That was a lot of words to say I should mind my business.”
Deep down he knew Cooper wasn’t wrong. Still, he suddenly had even less appetite than before.
“Harry, please, I did not say that.”
He took a deep breath to avoid snapping at him again. He leaned on the table.
“I’m sorry. You didn’t. It’s just…as you said, we’re not exactly strangers to each other. But that means I’ll worry about you. Hell, I’d worry about any agent who just took three bullets! You were bleeding out in front of me Coop, I saw your face turn white, I don’t care that it’s not my responsibility! It will haunt me for days anyway, and If you think I’m bad at my job for it, I-” he caught himself mid rant. He pressed his lips together tight then he fell back into the booth, looking at Cooper, silently begging him to understand and not let him embarrass himself further.
He was met with wide, warm eyes and a somber expression. Cooper was immobile.
Norma stopped by to refill their coffees, unusually silent, and both nodded at her with gratitude. She discreetly brushed a hand on Harry’s shoulder before stepping away again.
“You are very good at your job, Harry.” Cooper spoke softly.
He slowly leaned over and put his hand over Harry’s.
_ _ _
“We got you Coop.”
He whispered again one night, crouched behind the truck door, gun ready, while watching Agent Bryson walk towards a door in a diner uniform. He stayed, heart pounding, until it was time to run again.
That night, his newly appointed Deputy allowed himself to be taken back to his cabin, and wearily accepted a glass of warm milk. A cat on the side of the road. He made sure he was comfortable and got the fireplace going, both for warmth and because he knew his friend would find it comforting. They sat on the couch, listening to Harry’s records.
Cooper talked about how he never had time for music anymore, and how turning the car radio on while travelling felt like obstructing potentially useful reflections. Harry would have argued with him on that, and his generally poor self preservation, then he remembered he had just been seen wiping the dust from his record player, and chose to shut up.
Cooper spoke for them both:
“What a life we lead, Sheriff.”
Harry sighed in agreement, slowly swirling his whiskey. He watched the orange light from the flames beam through the glass and the amber liquid. Hearing his title on Cooper’s lips had sent a hot flush through his body. It sounded personal. Intimate, even.
While the last song faded out, he turned to look at Cooper, and their eyes met. He gave him that adorable lopsided smile. Between the booze and the adrenaline crash from that day, Harry was only vaguely aware of his own hypnotised state. He lifted his hand and stroked Cooper’s forehead, like he had done weeks before at the Great Northern. He wondered if he had any memory of that, while his fingers carefully traced around the fresh cut from their latest mission.
Cooper kept observing his movements, still smiling, his lips slightly parted. Harry combed a loose strand of hair back into place, then carefully held his cheek, feeling the smooth skin with his thumb. It was warm. It made him happy.
“Harry, you keep saving my life. I wish I could promise to stop risking it.”
Harry desperately wished he would promise anyway.
“Well, you’re just doing your job, and I’m doing mine.” Is all he said instead.
There were a lot more days for Harry to spend doing his job after that. Many more commands and instructions rolling off his tongue with the confidence of someone who has nothing to lose anymore.
Many weeks, spent combing through every inch of the state. He accepted to cooperate with the Bureau, even though it meant dealing with Albert's temper, plus stoically defending his jurisdiction every time Gordon tried to take full charge. He was glad to have them regardless, just like he was glad to have his deputies.
He ended up never handing over his badge, because Cooper technically never died on him.
Now Harry thinks it would have been a gentler fate for both of them.
Gentler than a frantic search, than bitterness, confusion, worry.
Gentler than the way long weeks turned into months, determination into a cold case he refused to close.
After a while, it had all faded into a bleak background for his latest challenges.
Now wind is howling behind the curtains on his left. He wakes up to the crackling of a dying fireplace and is grateful for his home. He couldn’t stand the white walls, all of that plastic, the mechanical beeping sounds. That memory tastes like low quality decaf coffee.
Wood is so beautiful, it’s warm, it’s the only shelter he has ever known. Solitary, but safe.
“Big, majestic! Douglas firs…”
He drags himself out of the bedroom and sits at the table with his mug. Good coffee. Not much else to cling onto.
His body has a black hole somewhere under his ribcage.
It hurts.
It devours the light.
He stares at the wooden walls again, then at the dark forest outside the window, hiding the town from view. His town. His beautiful, cursed town. He sips on his coffee, pondering about turning the tv on just to know which day of the week it is.
He decides against it. He’ll find out when Hawk or Lucy inevitably come looking for him.
He wishes he had the strength to call, be a decent friend and tell the truth right away, but he has no idea what he would say and he’s genuinely ashamed.
He used to be better at these things.
More or less.
Hawk will probably bring some of his home brewed beer, and will want to talk him out of appointing him Chief. Something along the lines of “You don’t need to” and “I hate paperwork” and he can’t blame him. Lucy would definitely bring food and scold him for disappearing. He knows she’s the one who decided to have mercy and hide away Agent Cooper’s folder at the station. He looks for it every now and then, but she’s too good.
He needs some music. The silence is driving him up the wall. Maybe a glass of whiskey too, just this once. As he gets up to grab the bottle, the telephone catches his attention: it’s unplugged. He doesn’t remember doing that. He stands there for a moment, observing a piece of ripped cable that is dangling from a dusty hole in the wall. He doesn’t remember being angry either.
Frustration snaps him out of his musings. What was he doing again? Music. Right. And maybe he should fix that thing and call, later. He could really do with Hawk’s voice drowning out his own today.
Glass in hand, he walks up to the record player and sees that Cooper is watching him from the couch. He’s leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, a hint of a mocking smile on his face as he raises an eyebrow at him.
“At least this time I’m not destroying the Book House.” Harry tries to say. “I’m doing my best.” He can feel his mouth moving but there’s no sound. Nausea starts building.
He’s forgetting something.
He can’t bear disappointing him, but the harder he tries to think, the more lethargic he feels and he still doesn’t know what day it is. How long has it been? Since he got up, and talked to anyone, and since the last time he went over the case file.
He plants himself down next to him, leaning back. His weight feels like he’ll never be able to get back up. It’d be nice to just stay like that.
“I can't do this, hun. I can't do my job when it doesn't make any fucking sense.” He coughs from the effort of raising his voice, and yet he still can't hear himself. He turns to look at Cooper, who keeps staring at him, quiet, handsome as ever. He’s very pale.
"This is... whatever it is, I'm not like you. I'm so sorry." His voice breaks. He can finally hear himself and it’s a pathetic sob.
He reaches out to cradle Cooper's face, feels the rough fabric of the couch.
He’s going to be sick.
He doesn’t know where he’s going.
He falls hard. It hurts. Palm pressed to the wall. No warmth is reaching him. Every time his stomach wrenches and pulls he shivers. He keeps staring. White walls again. Wooden walls, orange light, blood, red blood everywhere, he was shot, no, he’s going to shoot, shoot him first shoot him-
familiar voices he can’t place echo through wooden walls, through the woods,
screaming at him.
His throat and eyes are burning.
He’s staring at him.
Empty eyes. Black hole eyes. Skin slicked in blood.
He was going to shoot him but then he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
The floor is giving out under his weight.
Twenty-five years.
Twenty-five empty years.
Walls all around. He can’t breathe.
_ _ _
Harry slowly leaned over, rolling a bit on his side to reach the bedside table. He pulled the first drawer, felt the familiar steel under his fingertips, leaned some more to grab it. The strain on his weakened muscles had him panting, he fell back on his bed, clutching his old gun like a lifeline.
He felt like himself again like that. His miserable, useless self.
The hospital had given him so much free time to think:
he didn’t know those empty black eyes.
Maybe the ones he knew had already been gone, after all, pure souls walk through trials unscathed, they don’t need coming back.
Morning was coming through the curtains. He laid there, his limbs too heavy, his mind slowly sinking into quiet defeat. Light was invading his cabin but he couldn’t feel it, a black hole can never be satiated. He brushed his thumb against the gun, feeling the edges.
He saw him, coming closer.
Couldn’t be mistaken this time.
He saw him young and beautiful,
beaming in the light of Nirvana,
warm lively eyes,
inviting.
There you are.
He had a feeling that he was supposed to remember something, or like he was somewhere relevant, but he was too tired he couldn’t think of anything. He didn’t want to. There was noise in the background, a phone ringing somewhere far, it all dissolved.
It was so bright he couldn’t see the walls anymore and he was there, offering him his hand.
At peace.
Harry’s lips touched cold steel
and the vision disappeared.
_