Spoilers/warnings: Not quite a solid R rating, I guess, but more than a PG-13 - some pretty dark material in there. There's also language, and references to sex, though never quite explicit. Spoilery for the entire series.
Disclaimer: I bow to David Lynch.
I.
Life was a bitch.
Well, of course it was in the general sense – he'd learned that the hard way, if not from the kids and innocents it delivered onto his slab, then from the throngs of incompetents it tended to throw across his path whenever he had a job to do. But that wasn't the sense he meant right now.
No. Life was a bitch, and it was personal.
Two things – two goddamn things – made his grisly existence worth clinging to. His work for the Bureau and whatever maniacs they could put behind bars because of it, and the one vice save nicotine he'd let himself indulge in, which was both the worst and best mistake of his career. To get tangled up with one Dale Cooper.
It figured, didn't it? Make one mistake now, one of the mere two million-odd ones there were to make in this game, and he'd destroy both those things faster than Cooper could say cherry pie.
Spots flickered in his vision and across the dim computer screen, and no amount of blinking could clear them. That figured too, of course. Never mind Bureau discipline, or the iron will he'd worked years to spit and polish; right now his hands on the keyboard were shuddering worse than a ninety-year-old's with Parkinson, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it.
It's like a riddle, he tried to distract himself, willing his fingers to obey and his eyes to focus. Like those easy ones Gramps used to play with us; the ones you hated because you always got the answer before anyone else even got the question. What's scentless, painless, fast to incapacitate – and an antidote gets you bonus points. Come on, Rosenfield, think, before you lose the nerve!
His nerves didn't betray him, in the end; thank Bureau training for that. Not even his stomach did, though it was a close call, committing the dosages to memory with the gut-wrenching dread of a nightmare turned real. Wiping his traces was pointless; if this didn't work, or he had it plain wrong, he wouldn't care who found out anyway. Instead he logged off as he always did – another late day at the office, eh, guys – almost slugged the computer when it kept right on asking, again, just as it always did, 'Are you sure you want to –'
Jesus fucking Christ. If only he could be.
II.
He should have known something was rotten the day Cooper came back to him. No, sooner: the minute Harry Truman called, smack in the middle of office hours, to tell him Coop had skipped town. He'd taken the call halfway into an autopsy, barely stopping to get rid of mucus-stained gloves to snatch the phone from a hopelessly overdressed, baby-faced – Christ, how young did they make 'em these days? – secretary.
"Cooper?" Too loud, too high-pitched. The kid at his shoulder stared, and Albert stifled a surge of embarrassment that lasted all of two seconds.
"Not Cooper – Truman. Sorry to burst your bubble, Albert. Though I guess you'll be seeing Cooper soon enough."
"Harry?" God damn it – had he actually been reduced to stammering two-syllable sentences through the phone? He glared at the kid who was still waiting, now straightening his tie. "Pack it up, buddy. Don't you have a beauty sleep to do?" Then, switching to a furious whisper, "I'll be seeing Cooper how? I thought he was still down there with you, would be for another week at least!"
That's what he'd gleaned from the first call, the one that had come about three days ago – Truman sounding dog-tired but atypically talkative, spinning some insane tale about beauty pageants and some chick called Annie, and how Windom Earle had apparently kidnapped her, then vanished into thin air somewhere in the woods. That he might have swallowed, barely, but then the sheriff had rambled on about Cooper entering some invisible place in those same woods, only to materialize again the next morning, semi-conscious, alongside a bleeding Annie, and Albert had just given up. Given up on the story, that was – not on its featured player.
The moment he put down the horn, he'd been just about ready to drop everything and storm off to Twin Peaks himself. He'd have done it too, if not for Gordon, who'd vetoed his leaving the lab on a whim, expressing what he called 'THE UTMOST CONFIDENCE IN TWIN PEAKS' LAW AND MEDICINE, AND BESIDES, COOP'S BEEN THROUGH ROUGHER PATCHES'. Albert had agreed reluctantly, conceding that Cooper was hardly an infant and Truman hardly incompetent, but the wait between that phone call and this one had still been endless. At least, he'd hoped to get Cooper's version of the facts this time, but –
"He's gone. Came up to the station this afternoon, thanked me and everyone else for the company and pleasant cooperation. Then said he'd be headed back to Seattle, as with Earle's disappearance he no longer had a case to crack. He pulled out of the driveway less than five minutes ago."
"Cooper's driving his own ass back to Seattle? Now?" Albert barked, voice rising along with his temper. "I thought he concussed himself into La-La land while banging his head into that mirror? Don't tell me you just let him take off –"
"And how do you suggest I should have stopped him? Tackled him and locked him in a cell?" The steel in Truman's voice matched the anger in his own, and Albert backed down – for now. Truman's voice softened again. "I have no authority over an FBI officer, you know that. And physically, he was fine; a little the worse for wear, but not enough for me to have Hayward pull medical rank on him. I was as surprised as you by him wanting out so suddenly." The sound of a throat being cleared. "Take Annie – he went to visit her once in the hospital, and came back looking so unnaturally cheerful, it just wasn't him. Then when I mentioned her later, he jumped as if he'd just seen the devil." A pause, leaving Albert time to swallow past the mention of Annie and focus on the facts. "Something's damn wrong here, Albert." Softly. "I don't know what happened to them out in those woods, or if they even remember, but – Coop especially, he just seems off. Like something's cracked in there, or…"
"I see." Not quite managing to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Restless, he paced over to the autopsy table and peered at the victim's stone-white face. "And because the combined efforts of you, Coop's personal nun-in-residence Annie-whatsit –"
"Blackburn. And she's no longer a nun. She's –"
"Annie-whatsit", he repeated stubbornly, knowing he was being childish but not giving a damn, "and the incompetent pinnacle of Twin Peaks medicine, failed miserably in getting through to Cooper, you now expect me to have the miracle cure for what's ailing him. Or a diagnosis, at least. Happy dreaming, Sheriff."
This time the silence was longer, as if Truman had realized he was treading a slippery slope here. Albert sighed and leaned his hip on the table. Last time he checked, the statistical correlation between his attitude and Dale Cooper's mental health had been less than impressive, and he didn't expect stellar changes there. Yeah, things had been different at various points in the past, but most of it was long enough ago it might have been another life. Which wasn't to say Albert didn't remember all of it, with that overly bright, gold-rimmed clarity one had of joys long lost. Hell, they'd been so young back then it was surreal. Especially Cooper, burning with optimism and love for the new in a way that left a smoldering hole where Albert's defenses used to be – after he was done hating Cooper's guts, that was. Anyway, where your average sane person would think twice about a fling with a tight-assed bastard who cut people open for a living, for Coop it was just another Great and Wonderful Adventure.
Damn Cooper's adventures to hell, he thought, jerking upright to start pacing again.
"Well, whatever –" Truman said, cutting short his slide into memory. "But he mentioned you still being stationed in Seattle, so my guess is he'll turn up soon enough, either at your doorstep or in your office. I just wanted to give you advance warning."
"Fair enough," Albert growled, allowing some gratitude to creep into his voice. "Thanks. And Harry –" A pause as he weighed exactly how much to say. "Don't take this the wrong way: at no point at all did I state I wasn't intending to do what I can for Coop. I just…" He trailed off, groping for words. "I'm not sure I'm the right man to..."
"I'm sure you'll do your utmost, Albert." Truman's voice was utterly devoid of sarcasm. "As you do with every job you take – which includes playing the smartass and giving good people crap." Something in the tone that could have been a smile. "But I trust you with Cooper, at least. Hell – he must be immune to it, anyway. Take care, keep in touch. Let me know about Coop."
The line clicked, then went silent. For once, Albert had missed his window for a snappy retort.
III.
Given the time of Truman's call, he hadn't expected to see Cooper that day. The man had always been a conscientious driver, law-abiding to the point of absurdity, and Albert guessed it'd take him eight hours or so to make the same drive he himself managed in six. An empty zebra crossing at the back end of nowhere, and he'd stop for it – because that's how the system works, Albert, he'd chided once, in perfect earnestness, proclaiming it their duty as U.S. citizens to uphold that system out of principle alone. And seeing as the man had an insatiable love for rundown motels, the shabbier the better – though Coop would refer to them as "having character" instead – it had to be a cold day in hell before he'd pass up the chance to spend the night in one. In any case, the time where Albert would be Cooper's first stop upon arrival was long gone. Which was why, when the door-bell rang at one-thirty in the night, his first thought wasn't of Cooper but some other clue or body they'd turned up for him to poke at.
He took his sweet old time shrugging into pants and shirt and walking down six sets of stairs, rolling his eyes as the bell rang a second time. Let the boys stew a little – a few minutes in the cold night air was good for the soul. Swinging open the front door, he was just about to launch a snide comment on the virtues of patience, when he found himself nose to nose with a very haggard, very frozen Special Agent.
"Coop?" He sputtered, fell back on reflex. "Do you have anyidea what time –" he began, then thought better of it and jerked Cooper inside with him. Turned him around, none too gently, to get a better look, and registered only then the man was in his goddamn shirtsleeves. Snapped, "What the hell are you doing out at five below zero dressed for a summer picnic?" and released his grip, only to clamp down again as Cooper listed, dangerously, to the side.
"Coat's – in the car." Cooper straightened and blinked up at him. "I just – I needed some fresh air." Albert must have gaped at him as if he were the Queen of Sheba, because he managed a sheepish smile that wasn't in the least reassuring. Under the harsh entrance light his face was almost transparent, eyes dark-rimmed, whites shot through with red. "I'm sorry to bother you, Albert, but – would you mind lending me a bed for the night? Or a couch – a couch would be perfect. I don't..." A crack in the façade, something like panic seeping through. "To find a hotel room now, I don't think I can drive any–"
"Don't even think about it," he grunted, taking Cooper by the elbow and starting to walk him to the lift. "You're not fit to steer a bike, let alone a car right now. And I'd prefer not to have to scrape you off some curb tomorrow morning." He jabbed at the lift button, furious. "Though how you got it in your head to come all this way instead of –"
"I had to get out of there, Albert." Hoarsely, in a voice that didn't sound like Cooper at all. The eyes squeezed shut for a moment, then fluttered and stared right past him into nothingness.
Albert opened his mouth, closed it again. Was saved momentarily by the lift doors opening, pushed Cooper inside and rode up with him in silence. It was only after he'd closed the door of the apartment behind him, then deposited Cooper on the nearest couch, that he let himself react to that. "Coop –" Forcing himself to sound, if not kind, at least free of sarcasm. "Not that I didn't think Twin Peaks charm was overrated as they come, but… you were crazy about the place. All of two weeks ago, you were raving about buying property there. Don't misunderstand me, I'm glad you've seen the light, only – what the hell happened?"
Cooper shrugged and bit his lip. Started to answer, only to hug himself shivering, teeth clacking so hard a whole orchestra could have kept tune by it. Albert cursed himself, muttered something semi-coherent and stomped over to the bedroom to get a pair of blankets.
When he came back Cooper was sitting, bent over, head between his hands, and something pulled at Albert's guts that was sharp and hot and nothing as uncomplicated as sympathy. Swallowing hard, he moved in and tugged a blanket across the sagging shoulders. Waited a moment, then let himself down on the other end of the couch.
"Cooper?" A beat. "Coop?" Reaching out to lay cautious fingertips on his arm. "Come on, Cooper, talk to me. What's –"
A long sigh, and the hands dropped away. "Sorry." That wan half-smile again. "Just a bit of a headache."
Albert scowled. " 'A bit of a –' "
Smile deepening slightly. "Okay. A hell of a headache." Sharp intake of breath. "Hit my head the first morning after I…" Long pause. "– woke up. They told me I was kinda woozy for a while – Harry's words, not mine – but the strange part is, I don't recall a thing about it. Or about the night before that, when I was supposedly missing."
Only to pop up again out of thin air, Albert thought grimly, but let that drop for now. Instead, he leaned in to peer at Cooper's scalp. "Yeah," he grumbled, "Harry called me about your little night-time escapade, and the stunt with your skull and the mirror. Pretty spectacular – makes for interesting conversation, especially at six in the morning." He glanced at Cooper for permission, then ran his thumb lightly above the edge of the hairline. Some scrapes and a long cut, superficial except near the middle, where some nitwit had put in two sloppy stitches. "Terrific," he muttered. "Our good Doctor Hayward even bought himself a knitting set." Then, snappily, "Did they check for concussion?" Waited for Cooper to answer as he probed the area around the bruise. Some minor swelling, nothing to worry about in itself, but add the disorientation plus amnesia, and –
"I'm not sure – mph." The head jerked slightly, and Albert eased the pressure. "Doc ran some tests, they said, but I – I can't remember." A soft noise of frustration. "It's all a blank, like –"
Albert breathed out and let go. "Short-term amnesia is common enough with a bump like that. You may have remembered perfectly until you took that fall, then lost the details while you were out. It could still come back to you." 'Could', 'might'… not exact science, though. Just as likely that hole in your mind stays right where it is.
"Yeah. I suppose so." Cooper didn't sound too convinced either. Good, Albert thought – it meant the man hadn't totally lost it after all.
Then, out of the blue, "I left… because of Annie." Breathless, that errant tone of despair creeping back in.
The name settled against Albert's breastbone like a rock, a dull ache that didn't lift no matter how he willed it to. It wasn't that he didn't grant Cooper what happiness he found. God help him, seeing him fall for Caroline had been one tough package of heaven and hell, but never more of the latter than the former. If anything, watching Cooper act so giddy, so obviously smitten, had almost been contagious, even if it was just living off the morsels of a pie he knew wasn't meant for him – not this time. No, the thing with Annie was he hadn't even been around to see it. It had all happened outside of Albert Rosenfield's cramped little sphere of knowledge, out in goddamn Twin Peaks of all places, and not even a side comment on the phone to let him share in it. Of course Cooper didn't owe him anything of the sort, but still, damn his selfish ass, he'd wanted that morsel, for old time's sake if nothing else. Not that he'd ever let Cooper know.
He dragged himself out of his brooding with an effort. " 'Because of Annie'?" he repeated, managing a skeptical look. "But she's fine, isn't she, your fair-haired ladyfriend? Bit banged up, but nothing permanent – except a teenage crush to match the worst of yours, which is probably a good thing. So you'll have to explain –"
"She sent me away, Albert," Cooper cut him off, anguish cracking though into his voice. Pupils dilated, eyes wild, and for the first time Albert considered a sedative. "Well – not simply sent me away, but…" He shuddered again, hugged the blanket closer around himself. "I told you I don't remember anything from that night, and apparently, neither does Annie, except… When I went to see her in hospital – she screamed at me like I was some kind of devil." Tone flat, all expression gone from the face. "Shouted all sorts of accusations – I was a monster, I wasn't real, I'd let them hurt her, she never wanted to lay eyes on me again and I – I couldn't refute anything, because I didn't even know what she was talking about." A long, shuddering gasp. "I was in there for all of five minutes before the nurses threw me out."
Albert cleared his throat. "Well, post-traumatic shock can be a strange thing. And she was injured… it's not uncommon for a first reaction to be one of panic, even anger, even if there's no truth to –"
"No." The head shook jerkily. "If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that she was… genuinely terrified. Of me." Deep breath, in and out."I can only conclude that I somehow, knowingly or unknowingly, did something unspeakable during those missing hours. Something that frightened her beyond belief, even if neither of us can remember it. Knowing that – I couldn't stay there, Albert. If I'm wrong, I'm sure she will find me, but if not… I owe it to her to leave her in peace."
For once, Albert didn't have a slick reply ready. Hesitant, he slid a hand up Cooper's back, a gesture that was instinct more than anything else.
"You know, Albert, I can't blame her." He blinked. Just for a moment the voice had seemed deeper, darker somehow, with a hint of something feral – but no, the damn mood was just getting to him. Was it? "At times, I'm afraid of myself too," Cooper breathed in his ear, still in that same tone, and Albert flinched involuntarily.
The dark eyes blinked once, focused on him. Flickered briefly with fire or despair or something else altogether, then the next thing he knew there were two hands pressed to either side of his face, and a pair of full lips hovered inches from his. For one heart-stopping second, his world narrowed to a pinprick, blood rushing in his ears so loud it drowned out all the rest. Just Cooper's pitch-black pupils, breath shuddering through those parted lips, and his own hand, digging into the small of Cooper's back –
And then he pulled free, and somehow he could breathe again.
Cooper blinked once more, and his eyes when he opened them were wide and bright and rolling, slowly, into the back of his head.
God damn it – "Don't you dare," he growled, surprised his own voice was still in working order. That same rush of fear stirred up, but he stifled it by shoving Cooper back onto the couch, pausing to smooth down a lock of hair. Reached for a pulse, furtively, to find it rapid – no surprise there, as his own heart was still pounding like a jackhammer – but steady. "That's it," he muttered. "Land of the living's right here."
"Albert, I – I need…" Hoarse, like he'd been shouting.
"What you need –" he cut in, forcing a neutral tone, "Is two aspirins and a decent night's sleep." Long silence. "We can talk tomorrow, if you want. Or not, if you don't. I'm easy."
"Oh, no, you're not," Cooper whispered, latching onto the escape to mundane conversation. "You're – a very difficult person, Albert, and too intelligent not to know it."
"Well, we can talk about that, too," he grimaced, the ache below his ribs easing a little. "After I take you to a decenthospital and we get your marbles checked. I'd hate it to be an uneven match."
He shook out the other blanket and focused on making Cooper comfortable, then moved to the bathroom to find those aspirins and a sleeping pill.
Snapping open the closet, he could almost forget those eyes; could almost ignore the tingle of hands clamped around his face.
IV.
"ALL RIGHT, ALBERT, LET'S REITERATE. YOU SAY YOU WANT ME TO KEEP COOPER FROM THE FIELD BECAUSE, DESPITE A CLEAN BILL OF HEALTH, YOU'RE CONVINCED HE'S HAD A BUMP TOO MANY ON THE HEAD?"
Albert fought the temptation to scream in return, instead settled on pinching the bridge of his nose. Fat chance Gordon wouldn't even notice the increase in volume, and even if through some miracle he did, he'd probably think Albert was just being considerate. Which wasn't exactly the desired impression, now was it?
Oh, he loved Gordon Cole, no argument there. Sharp as they came – at least when you caught him at the right time – and an astounding judge of character. Most likely no one but Gordon would have stuck it in his head to hire him, even with the cum laude degree and witticism to match. But to have a discreet conversation with the man was a plain illusion – one he'd given up along with any hope to have his eardrums last to old age.
Of course, the fact that the topic of conversation was seated right on the other side of an inch-thick wall made it all but impossible to be frank. He hardly wanted to send Coop the message his partner thought him fit for the madhouse – which Gordon was doing a terrific job of making this sound like.
"Gordon, please," he repeated, for what seemed like the gazillionth time. Jerked his head to the side in a mute signal of Cooper-alert. Gordon's eyebrows rose up to his hairline, then, also for the gazillionth time, the mouth opened into a neat little 'o'. "Right," he mouthed, still well over normal speaking volume. "Message RECEIVED, ALBERT!"
He gritted his teeth, kicked himself for not having had that cigarette first. "Gordon, for Christ's sake, I'm not saying Cooper needs to be carted off by the men in the white coats. To all outward appearances he's doing just dandy. CT-scan was absolutely spotless, and no physical complaints at all apart from those first few days. It's just –" grinding his fist into his hip in frustration. "There's nothing I can put my finger on, no one event I can describe to you, but – he's not himself. Mood swings, disorientation, even brief violent spells... the kind of symptoms that, if I hadn't seen those scan results with my own eyes, I'd call personality changes brought on by a second degree concussion." Except, in Cooper's case, there was no obvious damage at all, which was what worried him the most. Invisible damage generally meant untreatable damage. "That's really all I can give you," he sighed. "Your call, Gordon. But I still say give him three weeks of forced leave. Then we see."
Gordon frowned, and Albert pressed down the impulse to fidget.
Of course, what he could hardly tell his superior was when those mood swings and violent spells tended to manifest. He could hardly say that, three days after the man turned up on his doorstep, had checked into a hotel all comfy and neat and was waiting to fly back to Philadelphia with him, he'd startled awake in the dead of night to find Cooper right outside his bedroom, lean silhouette poised against the doorframe. When he asked, dumbfounded, how the hell he'd gotten in, Cooper had smiled a sly little smile at him and whispered, "But – you gave me the key, Albert." Which he was sure he hadn't done – absolutely sure, because he'd considered just that, but decided against it.
Then Cooper, still smiling, had peeled off his suit, and Albert wasn't sure of a goddamn thing anymore.
He couldn't remember what he'd said when Cooper slipped into the bed with him – only that it must have been addled to the point of incoherence. What he did remember were the hands, chilled from the night air, trailing fire and ice across his collarbones, his sides, his hips. How he'd reached to pull Cooper against him, making him shudder and gasp and shudder again as his own hands moved like muscle memory, the sensation as familiar as if he'd done it only yesterday.
And before he knew or could even react, Cooper was out of his arms and straddling him.
"You want this – don't you, Albert?" A dangerous whisper, dangerous like the glint of fire that had come back into his eyes between one heartbeat and the next. Voice throaty, ravishing, and so unlike Cooper it made the hairs stand up on the back of Albert's neck. Sharp nails raked across the skin at his throat, and now it was his turn to gasp. Because this wasn't his Cooper, no; this Cooper was beautiful and terrible and, quite possibly, the most frightening thing he'd seen in his life. As if sensing his distress, the other man leaned in, fire switching to triumph switching to something like cruel understanding. "Oh, yes…" A knowing chuckle. "How you want this." Tensed and lunged at him like a cat, mouth crushing against his in a way that was needy and impulsive and in some way more Cooper than the man who'd just been pinning him down, even though there was still a hint of something different, something feral, as well.
Then that dropped away too, and suddenly Cooper was blinking down at him, that same pair of hands now cupping his face like he didn't quite know what he was supposed to do with it. The next thing he was aware of was a warm weight in his arms, taking slow, shivery breaths against his chest. Hesitant, he had raised his head, and the lips that met him halfway were moist and yielding and tasted, faintly, of black coffee tinged with aspirin.
They'd made love then, a fragile, cautious kind of love that, thinking back about it now, reminded him ever so much of that lousy joke about porcupines – circling each other until one of them gave. The next morning, he'd handed Cooper his key. Even though he knew – knew – someday soon he'd regret it.
Part of him already did, giving Gordon that practiced scowl that said he was too hardened to care, but in fact meant he was caring too much. A look which Gordon, of course, could see right through. Bless the man for being silent about one thing, at least.
Gordon peered back at him, then sighed and, with uncharacteristic nonchalance, leaned back against his desk.
"ALBERT, I'LL GIVE IT TO YOU STRAIGHT. COOPER CLEARLY INDICATED EAGERNESS TO RETURN TO THE JOB. WE BOTH AGREE THAT NOTHING TANGIBLE IS WRONG WITH HIM, SO I CANNOT – AND WILL NOT – KEEP HIM FROM DOING SO. HOWEVER –"
Albert bit back a curse, took a step forward. "Gordon, you're making a –"
"PLEASE LET ME FINISH, ALBERT." A piercing look, and he hovered in place. "WHILE I CANNOT KEEP COOPER FROM THE FIELD, I UNDERSTAND YOUR CONCERNS. AND I AGREE IT'S A SENSIBLE PRECAUTION NOT TO SEND HIM OUT ON HIS OWN JUST YET. SO… WHAT DO YOU SAY, ALBERT? WOULD YOU CARE TO CHAPERONE?"
The other shoe dropped with all the subtlety of a bowling ball.
"Gordon –" Scowling openly now. "Let's not mince words here – I'm an ass at field assignments. I hate them, I do not behave during them, I do not tolerate idiocy, which is ever-present outside of this building – sometimes even in here. I get your point, but I don't think partnering me up with Cooper for any length of time would be beneficial to the man's health –"
"BUT WOULD TELL YOU INSTANTLY HOW WELL HE HOLDS UP UNDER PRESSURE. CORRECT?"
Oh, great. Using my own game against me now. Albert rubbed at his forehead, grumbled, "Correct." Because he knew when he'd been beaten.
"THEN WE HAVE A DEAL. NOW, GO ON AND TELL COOP HE'S GOT HIMSELF A PARTNER."
Albert grimaced, glancing at the nearest wall, on the other side of which Cooper was either sitting peeved as hell, or laughing his ass off.
"Yeah, well… A little fairy just told me – he'll already know."
V.
Without the music, it would have been bearable.
Not easy, mind you. Bearable. Three cases in, and Albert had already seen every single reason why he'd opted out of field work from the start – except for those few times when Cooper or Gordon Cole asked – paraded right in front of his nose. It was one thing to be confronted with evil when it was delivered to you on the autopsy table, wrapped into a snug package that only lacked strings and a bow. Seeing it firsthand, though, made him want to put his knuckles through a solid brick wall. Or someone's face, for that matter, vow of pacifism be damned.
He nudged his foot between a mound of rubbish and what looked alarmingly like a tattered polka-dot skirt, took half a step forward, and cursed under his breath.
There was a night club just next door, the kind with a very specific clientele, advertising its goods through shaded purple neon signs and some ageless, shapeless, upbeat-y kind of jazz blaring from decrepit speakers. Even here in the basement, the smoky beat filtering in through the side wall was loud enough to make normal conversation difficult. And whoever owned this place was pretty much nuts about the music. At least, that's what he gathered from a crooked wooden dance floor in the center, lit by sickly yellow spotlights, and the guy's poster collection, made up of Dirty Dancing and what looked like some Latin American versions of same, plus a tattered Fred and Ginger picture that seemed to have gotten a place of honor.
And then there were the girls.
They sure as hell didn't go with a bow and a flourish, Albert thought, disgust sharp in his mouth. Four of them, tied up in chairs on the dance floor like so many broken dolls, dressed in flimsy showgirl dresses and decomposed well beyond recognition. All deceased two to eight weeks ago, he ventured a guess. Wrists and ankles snapped, with the kind of sickening precision only a maniac could turn out.
Fred and Ginger would be rolling in their graves.
The music had switched to a fast, lilting tune, drumbeat lodging in his belly and quivering there like a live thing. He knelt at the leftmost woman's body, careful not to disturb anything they'd need as evidence later. Phalanx bones of toes and fingers were broken as well, and he was betting the poor souls had been alive when it happened. Which, combined with the grime and crumbling walls and that goddamn freaking music, was enough to make his skin crawl and his palms turn sweaty. Unlike many assumed, Albert Rosenfield had a very vivid imagination.
A sound from the other room, and they all jumped. Even though they knew the killer wasn't coming back – they'd just picked him, unsuspecting, right from his doorstep – nerves were still strung pretty high. Cooper, of course, looked as calm as if he was out for a summer stroll, hand poised at his weapon as he moved towards the door and turned the lock. Albert shot him a terse look and followed right on his heels, hearing the two other cops fall in behind.
He didn't even notice her until he heard her breathing. A tattered bundle of a person over in the far corner, gagged and bound to a chair like the rest of them. Twenty years old, maybe, looking scared as hell in some kind of black evening dress that barely covered anything, let alone the girl's dignity.
Moving aside, Albert shut down his reaction and waited for Cooper to step in. By unspoken agreement, it was him who handled that part, the part that involved offering shoulders to victims before taking them to safety. Cooper was a natural; gifted with the kind of face and manner people trusted on sight. An effect which, color him stunned, Albert Rosenfield consistently failed to induce.
This time, though, the expected movement at his shoulder didn't come. Glancing to his side, he was taken aback by the sight of Cooper blinking at the ceiling like a man in a trance, hips rocking as he swayed – swayed! – slowly in time with the music.
"Coop?" He goggled for a moment, tried to catch Cooper's eye but came up empty. Saw the two other men – regular police force, neither supposed to take the lead – standing to the side, obviously waiting for some kind of cue. Stifling a curse, he moved to cross the distance himself.
"It's all right," he rasped awkwardly, kneeling next to her. "I'm Albert Rosenfield, FBI. You're safe now." He reached as carefully as he could to remove the gag and blindfold, which of course wasn't nearly careful enough. The girl panicked, breath hitching in wild gasps before he managed to free her eyes and she stopped struggling at the sight of him. "You're safe," he repeated, seeing her register the suit and tie, as well as the presence of three armed men in the background, and put two and two together. His hands weren't quite steady as she let him untie her mouth and hands. No broken bones, he saw with some relief. Just one long, ugly cut running along the length of her thigh, another across her right cheekbone.
And still Cooper hadn't snapped out of his creepy little spell. For a moment, Albert would even have sworn he was smiling, a thin loopy smile that looked nothing like him, but it was gone before he could be sure.
It was only after he'd got the girl out of the house and into the waiting ambulance, after descending that stairway of hell a second time, evidence case a soothing weight in his hand, that he realized Cooper still stood rooted on the spot. Albert almost threw down the case, squared off against him.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Concern sharpened his voice into a growl, and he tuned it down with an effort. Cooper had always had this – this habit of spacing out at impossible moments, as if listening to voices unheard by anyone else. Frankly, it gave Albert the willies, but most often whatever freakish vibes the man picked up did turn out something tangible. In the end, he'd learned to accept it as one of those bits of Cooper he'd never understand. Most of the time. Sometimes, though, the weirdness was just too much.
Cooper wasn't moving a muscle. Or rather, he was, that loopy grin back on his face as his foot tapped, almost thoughtlessly, in time with the beat. But he didn't acknowledge Albert's presence, and he didn't take his eyes from the poster-paved wall. Albert gave up and took him by the shoulders, gave a hard shake. "Coop? Come on, you're starting to freak me out here."
A long second as Cooper's eyes darkened, then focused on his. "Albert?" Gaze flicking from him to the now-empty chair in the corner and back again. "What did… Is the girl all right?"
"Yeah," Albert muttered, pulling back slightly. "Wouldn't call it 'all right', but compared to the other four, I'd say she was doing just dandy. I vote we sort out the rest of this mess, then get the hell out of here. Once you're done studying the wall, that is." He bit his lip, frustrated by the lack of a reply. "Who – what for Christ's sake were you looking at? Or listening to?"
"Listening?" The brow puckered for a moment, then that smile came creeping back again. "Why – the music, of course, Albert. Don't you hear it? Isn't it just – the most wonderful thing?"
Stifling what he knew was slow horror clouding his face, Albert stepped back against the wall. Watched as Cooper moved right with him, face lit with a brilliant expression as he reached for Albert's waist and tugged him closer, oblivious to the gun strapped around his hip
"So tense, Albert." A throaty whisper; hands that spidered, possessive, across his thigh. "What do you say – we go dancing tonight?"
VI.
It felt good to be driving. Apart, maybe, from a nice and quiet restaurant, it was in the car more than anywhere that he could relax. It helped to be at the wheel himself, rather than being driven. That way he could roll down the window, light a smoke without anyone bitching, let in the cold air and focus on nothing except the landscape streaming by alongside. If he managed to focus at all, that was.
Yeah – think again, Rosenfield.
His fingers shook a little as he flicked away his cigarette, lit up another.
It was him chasing phantoms; it hadto be. Too much time with Cooper would do it to anyone: an overdose of babbling on about magic, premonitions, the supernatural, you name it. It was Cooper's weird quirks catching up with him, Cooper's tales and theories seeping under his skin. Cooper's dreams, waking him up at night to find the man, sweaty and shaking like a stroke victim, huddled on top of the bedspread. It would get to any sane person, in the end.
Except, of course, it wasn't that at all.
He wasn't even sure now when it had started to dawn on him. That one insane night, maybe, when in the end they had gone dancing, on Cooper's insistence, calling at some artsy Latin place downtown where Albert retreated to the bar and knocked down double scotches, watching Cooper take to the dance floor as if they hadn't just walked out of a freaking killer's den. That, more than anything, had given him the shakes. Sure, Cooper was always quick to leap back to his feet, would think nothing of having pie and coffee ten minutes after walking away from a crime scene, which was usually when Albert broke out the antacids – but that was a façade, same as they all had. That night, though, the façade had been uncannily real. And there'd been other times, too: Coop cracking jokes that, for Albert, would have been standard survival procedure, but coming from the other man's mouth just sounded plain wrong. Sometimes, he didn't think he was talking to Cooper at all. Or working with Cooper. Or – sharing a bed with Cooper.
And still it didn't hit him. Hadn't hit him even while all of his senses were screaming at him to get up and face the goddamn music. Hadn't hit until that one, sun-drenched, obscenely perfect spring morning, when he'd woken up with a bundle of Cooper warm in his arms and had, stupid as hell, trailed a hand through his hair.
And found it pure white.
Oh, not all of it, no; that would have been too telling, wouldn't it? Just a strand, a single one, tucked away at the back of that frazzled mop of black, a lock he was sure he'd never seen before in his life, and he didn't even realize why that would bother him so much, why his breath stuck in his throat like that, until it hit him all at once, every word Cooper had said, and Palmer, and Truman, clicking into place like a giant jigsaw puzzle of hell.
"Grey-haired man…" "Always music in the air –"
"– screamed I'd let them hurt her –"
"… when he was inside, I didn't know. When he was gone, I couldn't remember…"
"If BOB got away, where is he now?"
This was insane, he'd repeated, over and over, squeezing down the lid on a flash of pure terror that would have woken Cooper up for sure. God damn it, losing it over a pathetic lock of graying hair! Except it all fit, suddenly, those abrupt shifts and weird moods, the amnesia, damsel Annie's loss of appetite for all things Cooper, and the hit-and-run from Twin Peaks to end up at Albert's doorstep. It was insane – but it fit anyway.
He'd called Harry Truman straight from the lab. Said he needed a favor, no questions asked, and the good-hearted oaf hadn't even tried for a why.
Maybe he was crazy. But he had to find out.
He rolled up the window and stepped down on the gas.
VII.
"To be fair, Dr. Rosenfield – I'm not sure I believe in hypnosis at all. Or feel comfortable with it, for that matter."
"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, tearing his eyes from the dismal-looking Jesus above the doorframe. "I'm sorry–" in a voice that said he was anything but. "Here I assumed life in convents was somehow compatible with belief in the unlikely. Can't think what gave me that idea." Shifting on the straight-backed chair he'd been offered, he allowed himself a joyless smirk. He was baiting her and she knew it. He could see it in those baby-blue eyes of hers – eyes that, by what little he'd heard from her, he'd expected to find gazing at some point at the far horizon, but so far hadn't flinched from his. That in itself had been a surprise – though not half as much as finding he didn't hate her on sight. He still didn't mind seeing her cringe a little, though.
She smiled; a sad, knowing little smile that left him feel exposed without knowing why. "I know who you are."
"I'd certainly hope so," he shot back, switching his tone from the mocking to the offensive. "Unless there was some part of 'Albert Rosenfield, FBI' you didn't understand, in which case I'd prescribe either an intelligence test or a hearing aid."
"Dale said you always do this." Straightening out the slate-grey skirt, hair cascading across her shoulders as she did so. "Plow over any attempt at conversation that might turn serious." She shrugged, and his budding gratification at Cooper's mention of him went straight back down the drain.
"Last thing I heard, you weren't exactly on speaking terms with 'Dale' yourself," he growled, hearing the cruelty in his voice and not giving a damn. If the chick insisted on making this personal, he was only too happy to oblige. After all, he'd been the one going easy on her.
" 'Cynicism is the only form in which base souls approach honesty.' " Spilling out as if she had the words lined up right there. But there was no triumph in them, just a dignity leashed so tightly it might have well have been chiseled on, and for some reason that galled him even more than if she'd been smirking right into his face.
"Good ol' Nietzsche," he countered, refusing to budge.
She started. "Yes." Rhetoric dropped away for wide-eyed surprise, a switch abrupt enough it was almost disorienting. In a flash, she reminded him so much of Cooper it knocked the wind right out of him, and something inside him clenched.
The last two fucking innocents, he thought, feeling dizzy. No wonder Cooper had been smitten on sight.
"Fell for you like a brick, didn't he?" he managed, voice the texture of sandpaper. "I can see what he saw in you – though knowing Cooper, I'm not sure that's a compliment." The latter with a sardonic look.
She blinked. "Funny. I was about to say the same about you."
Albert shook his head, leaned back into the chair, and suddenly the silence they sat in was a little less suffocating. Shoot him now, but there was something about her – maybe the honesty that, in its shockingly naïve way, was as deeply rooted as his own – that made him feel a weird kind of rapport with the woman. Which still didn't mean he liked her. He'd never had any patience for anyone hightailing it out of reality, be it in nunneries or drugs or anything else, and he wasn't about to start. Hell, he'd pick a quiet life over chopping up corpses anytime, but there happened to be evil to fight, and so fight was exactly what he'd do. They all had obligations in this world – and if he had impossible standards for people, well, they were no higher than those he had for himself.
"You didn't ask why I haven't seen Dale again," she said, face a careful blank.
Weary shrug. "Should I have? Fine. Consider it asked."
She reciprocated with a shrug of her own. "It's crazy, really." Staring at the hands folded in her lap. "So far, no one's even dared to ask – not even my sister, and she's not afraid of anything. They all seem to think I'd break into a million pieces if they did." She bit her lip, shaking her head as if to fight something off. "You said…" searching his face, "you're worried about Dale because… he seems different since that night. But – dear God, I don't even know how to explain it. When I saw him that morning, he wasn't just different; he didn't feel like Dale at all. It's nothing he did or said, but… when I looked in his eyes, I felt like I was looking at someone – or something – else. Something dark and dangerous, and…" Hands clutched at her skirt, and Albert blinked to find he'd been unconsciously plucking at the cuff of his own sleeve. He scowled and let go. "They tell me it's shock; I've tried to tell myself it's shock, and maybe it is, but… I can't get rid of the feeling. So I came back here, hoping... hoping familiarity would help. So far, it hasn't helped at all."
He swallowed, hard. Occam's razor – more likely we're both right than we're both crazy, huh? He weighed his words carefully, trying for once not to hide behind sarcasm. The thing was, he was out of practice.
"Miss Blackburn…" he began slowly. "I'm not going to tell you how insane all of this sounds, because I'm sure you realize that. However – " A long pause. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't believe something about your experience holds a clue to whatever's ailing Dale Cooper. I hate to disappoint you, I didn't drive six hours just to gaze into blue eyes. But a feeling isn't much to work with. I need to learn about the night itself."
"Using hypnosis?" She bit her lip. "I'm still not –"
"You think it's a load of crap, don't you?" he cut her off, knowing all too well she didn't. This was scaring the hell out of her, no surprise, but letting her chicken out would get him nowhere.
"I wouldn't put it that way, but…"
"Oh, I would," he barged on. "Total bullshit, always thought so. But Cooper didn't, and right now, whatever Cooper believes is good enough for me."
"I see," she nodded, hesitantly at first, then with more conviction. "Well, whatever could help Dale – I'm willing to try."
When he brought her out of it, a good ten minutes later, he still couldn't quite believe he did this. Not so much the doing it – he'd done plenty of crazy things in his career, courtesy of Cooper more often than not – as the actually hoping it would work. He'd even brought a tape recorder, to make sure he didn't miss any clue, which… Well, the irony of that was almost too much.
"So?" A nervous expression, less a smile than a twitch. "Did I… did my subconscious tell you anything useful?"
He started to run a hand through his hair, took it down when it made him feel exposed. "If by 'useful' you mean 'tangible' – no. Not unless three-word sentences are your idea of eloquence." Which, he thought, was an understatement. All he got from her, trying to talk her through the events of that night, was the story he knew – the beauty pageant, Earle, a clearing in the woods. That, and a cartload of mutterings that men like Coop might find inspiring, but were telling him exactly squat. If he was even asking the right questions.
"What kind of three-word sentences?" Leaning in, eyes wide.
Albert pressed his back into the chair, instinct telling him to keep the distance. "Oh, you name it." He shrugged. "'Red and black', 'the waiting room', 'blood on the tiles', yadda yadda. Okay, the last one was four words, but in terms of syllables, not exactly a winner." Her shoulders sagged, and for a moment she looked lost enough he almost told her – but no, no. It might have been protectiveness or egoism or any combination of the two, or maybe he was the one chickening out right now… Still, better if she didn't know. How she'd been babbling on about rooms and tiles, repeating like a broken record until he hadsnapped, much louder than he'd intended, "Where the hell are you?" Like raising his voice would make a hoot of difference. "What's red and black? What's –"
She'd shuddered then, head arching back against the couch. "In the Black Lodge." Voice hoarse like a smoker's, a sound that made his breath stick in his chest like syrup. "Dale is bleeding… on the tiles. I'm Annie. I'm Caroline. I'm –"
"What did you say?" An irrational moment where he tried to pry his hands from the armrests and compose himself, but of course no one was watching. "The Black Lodge, where's the Black Lodge?" And then, in a flash of insight, "Who else is in there?"
"The good Dale's in the Lodge – and something is out."
He met her eyes, found them too close for comfort and looked away again. No, best not to tell her; it would complicate everything. The evidence case sat waiting on the table, the familiar snap as he opened it anchoring him a little. Still, his hands weren't as steady as they should be. As he shuffled between his papers, he saw Annie Blackburn notice it, too, then pretend she hadn't. She wasn't a fool, that he had to give her.
Something is out. Like a line from a bad horror flick – it should have left him stone cold. Except he couldn't even think it without his throat closing up, or his heart doing the conga. Realistically, it didn't tell him anything, but it was close enough to his own suspicions for this not to be coincidence. Too damn close.
He could have sworn he'd stacked it neatly on the top, but when he found the picture, it was crumpled somewhere at the bottom of the case. BOB's face, the pencil drawing Coop had brought with him to Philly. A face Annie Blackburn had never seen before, in life or on paper, so when he slapped it down before her, he was expecting no reaction at all.
He knew he was wrong when she started to scream.
VIII.
Truman met him outside the Double R. A drizzle had set in as he was driving into town, the kind that was more fog than rain, and hell on the windscreen wipers. It blurred the rows of houses, turned the street lamps and traffic lights into pulsing blobs of orange and green – as if all of this wasn't surreal enough without Twin Peaks pitching in a contribution of its own. He lit a quick cigarette stepping out of the car, pulled in hungrily, once, twice, dropped the rest. Truman's outstretched hand looked more reassuring than it had any damn right to.
He took the hand in a clean shake, no vigorous pounding of shoulders or backs. Wanted to grin and say "You haven't changed," except he had, the face, the eyes, the line of the shoulders, everything. Not much of a surprise there, even if that Packard chick really wasn't worth the heartache – but that was Harry Truman for you.
"Been a while, Albert." Still holding the handclasp, tight, and longer than convention prescribed. Then, a hooded glance, "Coop isn't –"
"No." He shifted and pulled back. "Gordon Cole didn't think it'd be wise to send him out here, after the whole circus of last time." That was a lie, of course. Gordon Cole didn't know squat about this little field trip of his, and neither did Cooper. "Anyway, apart from Coop, I'm most familiar with the case, so…" Uneasy shrug – too uneasy – that he quickly covered up by straightening his coat. Ah, damn it. If there was one talent he lacked – apart from, as he was told, the social ones – it had to be skill at lying. He was lucky, he thought, with a twinge of guilt, that Truman was graced with a suspicious nature equaling that of your average household dog. Without that, he wouldn't stand a chance in hell.
The diner was mostly empty as they entered, which he supposed wasn't abnormal for the time of day. Still, in his memory, the last time he'd sat in one of these booths, it had seemed like a much livelier place. Not that lively was a good thing, per se – unlike some, Albert preferred meals to be quiet affairs if he could help it. He still remembered being squeezed between Cooper and Miss Pipsqueak from the Sheriff's station, struggling to get down something that passed for steak in these parts, with Coop rattling on about Twin Peaks flora while attacking a piece of pie that gave Albert heartburn just to look at. It had been a memorable experience, if not actually a pleasant one.
They served decent coffee, though, hot enough to scald. He sipped his cup sparingly, feeling Truman's eyes on him burn like an accusation.
"So." He cleared his throat, put down the coffee. "How are things in Twin –"
A shadow fell across the table, then stopped. Truman made an impatient noise, and Albert found himself scowling up at a turtle-necked sweater, then into a pair of pale, keen eyes. It took him a moment to place her, match her face against the names from the reports, but then he knew.
"Audrey," the Sheriff began, and cleared his throat, none too subtly. "Could we have this conversation in private, please?" But the girl – Audrey Horne, he thought, and really, even though Cooper had been tight-lipped as hell about the whole thing, how could he not remember her? – just smiled a candy-floss smile and stayed right where she was.
"Hello, Sheriff Truman." Her hand fingered the hem of her sweater, trailed down towards the table and across the lid of the sugar pot. "I was just leaving, really." Though still, Albert observed, not making a move to do anything of the sort. Then, with a meaningful glance in his direction, "Have a good day, Mister…"
Truman sighed, shoulders slumping like he'd just lost a confrontation. "Albert Rosenfield," he introduced, with a resigned nod. "Colleague of Agent Cooper. Come here to, uh – round up the investigation. Dr. Rosenfield, Audrey Horne."
"How do you do, Dr. Rosenfield?" She smiled brilliantly, in a tone smooth enough he was sure she'd heard the name before. "Are you a Special Agent too?"
"Guess I am." He shrugged as the girl's eyebrows rose. Then, with as dry a look as he could manage, "Sorry, cupcake. We can't all have Dale Cooper's looks."
"I see." The smile didn't waver, and for one second, between the space of two breaths, it was like she really did see – saw through him like a leaf of paper. Something like envy in those eyes, maybe, envy or pity, then before he could be sure, she'd turned away.
Truman blinked at him from over the rim of his coffee cup. Made a face as if to ask what that was about, then seemed to think better of it and took another swallow instead.
"Well, Harry," Albert threw in hastily. "Tell me. Have you got anything?"
"I think we do." Voice turning low, conspiratorial, like a switch turned over. Leaning across the table, Truman glanced left and right before muttering, still in that same throaty pitch – which, by God, sounded more appropriate to certain kinds of call centers than a professional conversation – "So. You really think he's back? Back and real –"
" – and out to have a good time." Albert twirled his spoon between his fingers, quelling the need for a cigarette."Yeah. As sure as we can be, at least. We've had another murder." That was lie number two, and it grated as much as the first one. He hoped to hell they would come easier once he got used to it. But he had no choice – he couldn't drag anyone else into this, not knowing what he thought he knew. Secrecy might be the only advantage he had.
"And the perpetrator –"
" – is either Bob, or something enough like him it's just as bad," he rushed on – three – wishing to God his heart would quit the ridiculous hammering. "Same old, down to the numbers under the fingernails. " Four. "Like he's mocking us, leaving a trail we can't help but miss. Like he's sure we can't get to him." He sighed, reached up and compulsively straightened his tie. "And I shouldn't have told you even this. Shouldn't have involved you, but –"
"Yeah, well," Truman echoed his sigh. "Like I told you – no other way to get to Gerard than through us. Man wouldn't talk, oranswer questions – let his pal Mike answer questions, that is – to any outsider. And the type of questions you were asking, Gerard sure as hell can't answer himself."
"I know," he nodded, terse. He'd had that explanation before, on the phone. He hadn't liked it then and he didn't like it now, but he'd have to make do with what he had. "You got the information, though? He agreed to talk?" His voice rose slightly, more than it should, and he toned it down before Truman could notice.
"Hawk spoke to him. Wasn't easy, convincing him to do it, and anyway, this Mike isn't actually a talkative guy – but we got something, at least. Taped the whole thing, too. Right here."
Albert took the recorder and scowled at it, then reached for his evidence case. "Thanks," he muttered, as he snapped the case shut again. "Did you –" He hesitated. "Did you listen to it? Is there anything useful, anything – we can use against Bob? Something that got overlooked before?"
"Not much," Truman admitted, downing the last of his coffee with a grimace. "As I said, most of Mike's statements are – well, cryptic is a pretty good word. But there was one thing."
Albert blinked. "One thing being?"
"Apparently, Bob can't stay inside a body that's dying. Mike said he can't either, no, uh, 'inhabiting spirit' can. If the host is harmed, they have to leave before death sets in, or they risk getting trapped."
He swallowed, hard, glad for the table's weight under his hands. "Like Bob left Palmer…"
"… after cracking his skull. Yeah." Truman's head bobbed left and right, left and right, in a way that was almost hypnotic. "Makes sense that way. Fat lot of good it does us, though. I mean, even if you know for sure who's possessed – whatever you do, Bob could still get out fast, make his escape, or you'd need death to be instantaneous. And putting a bullet in the host isn't exactly the pretty solution you'd like to – Albert? Are you – "
"Fine. Just fine," he managed, feeling dizzy.
The lies did come easier, didn't they?
IX.
Digging into his pockets, he found the familiar shape of the bottle and upended it. Nothing. So much for the antacids.
Just an ordinary day at work, right? And after that, just one more night –
Suppressing a shiver, he tossed the empty bottle into the bin, stuck his hands under the smooth, FBI-standard tap and splashed his face. Glancing up into the mirror was a mistake. He looked, he thought, disgusted, like something the cat had just coughed up – eyes sunk deep enough it was a miracle they didn't pop out the other side.
First, do no harm. That was what they taught, didn't they? Of course, the dead never did complain, and then 'harm' was a relative concept, but he'd taken the oath, and lived by it. Those kinds of things mattered to him; not that your regular mortal ever seemed to take note. Plain and simple, Albert Rosenfield considered the global issues, and sparing fragile egos seldom qualified as one.
This, on the other hand –
His stomach tightened, and he cursed under his breath. Gripped the sink and swallowed thickly, tasting bile but nothing else.
Enough of this. Any longer, and he'd either plain crack or at the very least betray himself some other way. The element of surprise was all he had.
It had to be tonight.
He packed his case slowly, meticulously, though there really wasn't much left to be meticulous about. He'd spent most of this week and the previous one collecting what he needed, stowing everything in the back of his locker in his private dressing room, which, of course, no one would ever dream of checking. FBI's best and brightest, eh? And Gordon – Gordon who trusted him implicitly, kicked down several holy houses to get him in his team… Christ, if he messed this up – which, in all fairness, wasn't very unlikely – he wasn't sure how he'd face Gordon again.
Of course, chances were if he did mess up, he wouldn't be seeing Gordon back at all. He'd either be six feet down or they'd put him away for life, take your pick.
Driving home, case stowed securely under the car seat, he found he lacked the energy to even be nervous – though he should be, should be terrified out of his wits. Instead, he just felt numb. That was fine, though, just peachy. It might even make things easier. After all, he hardly wanted to appear to Cooper – or whatever pretended to be Cooper these days – like a ticking time bomb on the loose. He'd have to play it cool, somehow.
Even now, he couldn't pinpoint when doubt had become suspicion, suspicion a heavy certainty. There were moments, yes, glimpses of something definitely wrong – like the day Gordon had relieved him of chaperoning duties, declaring Cooper fit as the proverbial fiddle. Just for a second, Cooper's eyes had widened at the news, glinting with something hard and cold and so much like triumph that Albert's spine had turned to ice. Still, none of that proved a thing, did it? Irony of ironies, all he had were exactly the kinds of hunches he'd given Cooper hell for in the past, so why he could be so certain, he didn't have a clue. Only that he was.
He had it all thought out. Arrive at the apartment before Cooper would, then unpack his case and prepare, quickly. Take out the syringe, tuck it at the back of an unused nightstand dresser, out of sight but within easy reach. His hands kept steady though all of it, didn't shake even when he snapped the case shut and shoved it under the bed. It only hit him as he was loosening his tie, peeling off the vest and shirt like they were something filthy, something to get rid of and burn. He'd planned to shower and change before Cooper came in, cling to normality for as long as was needed, but getting up from the bed suddenly seemed like an insurmountable task.
He hadn't meant to lie down for more than a minute, would have laughed at the mere notion of dozing off, but the next thing he knew was Cooper, standing over him with a strange half-smile on his face.
"Coop? What – " he sputtered, flailing for a frantic second before getting his arms under him. "How – did I –" Already scrambling up, but Cooper caught him with a hand on his shoulder.
"You were asleep," he offered, softly. "And giving the impression of a man who needs it, too." Hand absently smoothing down the pillow, and of course that was the real Cooper talking – his Cooper, he thought with a stab of bitterness, because that would just be goddamn fitting now, would it? Trust Coop never to make things any easier. Except this wasn't just Cooper – there was Bob, lurking just below the surface, itching to get out, probably laughing his ass off at Albert right now.
There was Bob. He had to remember that.
"Yeah, well," he grimaced, reaching up to rub the stubble already dotting his chin. "Occupational hazard. Nothing a good glass of Scotch can't cure, anyway."
"Oh." Cooper drew back, pulling a mock-hurt face. "And here I was assuming a different kind of cure."
"Assume away," he rasped, leaning in to cup Cooper's jaw in a motion that was as familiar as breathing – and a good thing, too, because he couldn't have managed otherwise. He felt dizzy tugging Cooper against him, working his way down, button for button, along the shirt, stopping just short of unbuckling his belt. In an impulse, he spooned Cooper against him, pressing chapped lips to the nape of his neck, feeling all the while like any moment now, he wouldn't be able to breathe, or think, or have the courage to do what he had to. Felt Cooper shudder and grow still in that way he had, the way that meant he was focusing on one sensation and one only, then, in a fluid maneuver, flipped him around and onto his stomach, pinning him from behind. Cooper made a strangled noise, the kind of noise that made Albert's stomach flip every time, except now it was for a whole other reason.
There was no way in hell he could do this and he had to.
"Just a second," he growled; let Cooper – let Bob think it was need turning his voice ragged. "Let me just get us a –"
There was sweat in his eyes, he thought. Twisting around towards the nightstand, he could barely see what he was doing through the haze. One heartbeat, two, three heartbeats before he found the drawer knob by touch – not the top drawer this time, the bottom, right there, shit, sweet mother of –
He didn't flinch as he slammed in the needle.
There was a gasp, more startled than pained, a wild flutter of arms and legs as Cooper tried to free himself, and then went limp altogether. The whole thing couldn't have lasted more than five seconds, which was way too soon – the stuff should kick in fast, but this fast, no way. So either he'd botched the composition, or –
"Albert?" The voice was rushed, breathless. He glanced down to find Cooper lying absolutely still, fixing him with a look of shock morphing quickly to tightly leashed anger. Then, in a tone Cooper tended to use with maniacs and murder witnesses only, but was still unmistakably his own: "Albert? Would you, ah, mind explaining to me – what just happened?"
He winced and shifted his grip on Cooper's wrists, trying to block out the pulse hammering against his palms. Well, what had he expected? That BOB would just come leaping out, yelling "you got me!" like a kid caught in a game of hide-and-seek? Of course he'd crawl away behind the real Coop for as long as he could – counting on Albert to lose his nerve. Not a bad plan either, he thought, darkly.
"Nerve toxin," he muttered, which made it sound like a confession. "Painless, but fast-acting."
Cooper's eyes widened, but to his credit, he didn't flinch. "Ah." Nodding sagely. "Yes. That would explain why I seem to have lost feeling in my legs. Still, that doesn't tell me the reason you –"
Leaning in, he squeezed Cooper's arms, hard. "Coop, you gotta listen to me. I know it'll sound insane, but there isn't much time, so I need you to hear me out." Pause, and Cooper inclined his head minutely. "Something…" He cut himself off, tried again. "Something happened to you in Twin Peaks. You came back – changed. And for a while now I've been suspecting – in fact, I'm pretty damn sure – and I wish there was a way to break it to you gently, I really do, but…" Ah, to hell with it. "You've been possessed by BOB."
This time, Cooper didn't look quite as unfazed. Long beat, then, "Albert, not that I'm not willing to believe you, but I…" He frowned, as if turning the premise over in his head like it wasn't the most crazy thing he'd heard in his life. "I truly don't – feel any different."
"Well, you wouldn't. It's like Leland Palmer said: when BOB's been busy, you don't remember. But you've been acting different, I can tell you." Albert blinked, had to stop to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. "Like – blanking out, doing something that's just not like you, then forgetting about it afterwards. Deep down, you have to have some inkling of – strange memories, moments you're missing… Don't you remember any of that?"
Cooper bit his lip, frustration plain on his face. He was also, Albert noted with a twinge of foreboding, beginning to breathe just the slightest bit harder. "No, I don't. There's – there's nothing, Albert, nothing at all –"
Albert shushed him with a hand to his forehead. Tried frantically to think of something, a clue for him to latch onto, but came up absolutely dry. He'd been prepared to go up against BOB, dammit, not talk Coop into working with him; he didn't have a thing, except –
Stiffly, he sat back and let go of Cooper's other arm, peeled his undershirt back from his shoulder. It was a stupid thing, not to mention melodramatic as hell, but –
Cooper's breath hitched.
"Do you remember doing this?" he said, baring the angry red blotch under his left collarbone, edges already turning an ugly yellow.
"No." Cooper's voice was barely audible. "No, I don't –"
"That's because you didn't," he growled, shrugging the shirt back on with a grimace. "You wouldn't do it, that's exactly the point. But something else did. Remember when you went missing that one night, in Twin Peaks? Annie Blackburn told me what she saw back then. 'Dale Cooper is in the Black Lodge', she said, 'and something is out.' BOB's out, Coop. He's out, and he's got you."
"You went to see Annie?" Cooper said, in a tiny voice, and for a second Albert wanted to scream. "God, Albert, I –"
"The point is," he interrupted, "I've been doing some digging – and this was the only rabbit I could pull out of my hat. Incapacitate him, corner him on my turf, not his, and force his hand. We can beat BOB, Cooper. I think – I actually have a shot at this. But –"
Cooper nodded, and Albert all but saw the pieces click into place in his head. "Did I – apart from –" Pained shudder, and a meaningful glance to Albert. "Apart from that, I didn't do –"
"No. You didn't do anything – unforgivable. That I know of. Yet." Awkward pause, then, "But I don't think we can hope for that –"
" – to last." Cooper's face turned grim. "I know. We can't let him run loose." Distantly, Albert wondered why he was even still talking to Cooper, not BOB – like he didn't care they were planning for his end? Then, softly, "How much time do I have?" Eyes closing for a long moment. Too long. "Based on how rapidly this seems to be working, I don't suppose…"
"Principle's the same as curare, in fact," Albert heard himself say, tone metallic, clinical. "Damage isn't permanent until – right near the end. From this point, I'd say thirty minutes until vital organs shut down." Shaky breath. "But I don't intend to let it come to that."
A strange kind of gleam in Cooper's eyes. "You really are sure about this, aren't you, Albert?"
"Yeah. I am." He started to brush back Cooper's hair, found that he couldn't. "I'm sorry." And was Cooper – smiling now? He was, wasn't he? A tiny, shattered kind of smile, but still –
"I told you – I'd need the very best." The smile deepened, then Cooper's jaw set. "And I trust whatever happens, you'll do what needs to be –"
The transition was almost like flipping a switch. Cooper gasped, and Albert lunged, and the next moment it wasn't Cooper but something else, blinking out of Cooper's eyes like an owl from the foliage.
Then that something chuckled, and Coop – the real Coop – slipped right out from between his fingers.
"Oh, well played."
Cooper's lips were moving around Cooper's voice, but somehow, the figure splayed out before him no longer looked, or sounded, like Cooper at all. More like a predator, Albert thought, and clenched his teeth around a shudder.
"Well played, yes," the not-Cooper giggled, rapture mixed in with the hint of a threat. "You have me where you wanted me, isn't that what you said? Cornered, defenceless? One little game between the two of us, isn't it, Albert?" Name flowing suave, throaty, like all of those nights he'd held on to Cooper, never quite knowing what was him and what wasn't. Except, he thought, stomping down on the fear and the nausea, this time he did know who he was facing.
"Your little secret's out, BOB," he spat. "Game over."
"Oh, but is it?" the other purred, dangerously. "Tell me – how will you play this game, hmm, Albert? What will you do when I call your bluff? Break out that antidote, turn me in with your FBI friends?" Beatific smile, and somehow all of that was even more chilling with Cooper – BOB – not moving another muscle the entire time. Still, that was something, he guessed. At least inhabiting spirits didn't magically make the host immune to toxins – however idiotic that sounded as a theory. At least BOB wasn't about to pounce and claw him in the face.
"But you can't turn me in, can you?" Cooper/BOB was chattering on, sounding more and more amused. "You have nothing to use against me. I'm still Dale Cooper, angelic soul – I've been a good boy, Albert. And incapacitate me as you will, there's nothing you can do to force me out. So, stalemate." Another brilliant look, and now the grin turned feral. "Except I have all the time in the world, and you haven't."
Somehow, Albert's voice was still in working order; even the scorn was intact. "Don't bullshit me, BOB. I know you can't stay inside a dying body."
"Ah." Cooper/BOB blinked, looking in no way more worried, and Albert pressed down something that felt very much like panic. For some reason, he'd had expected the same manic, hooting, incoherent version of BOB they'd found in Leland Palmer. This BOB, though, seemed almost chillingly sane. He wondered, with a shudder, if that was the host still peeking through; how much of all of this Cooper was aware of.
"But you see," BOB said, in a conspiratorial whisper, "this body isn't dead yet… And honestly, Albert, I don't think it will be." There was a dragging wheeze in Cooper's voice now, and Albert fought against the impulse to check his watch. "Because you want everything, don't you? Save him, and get rid of me. You really still think you and your Cooper can walk out of this intact."
There was something obscene about Cooper's voice speaking those words; Cooper's lips, pulled into a slanted rictus of a smile. For a moment, Albert actually felt sick – and then sicker, because Bob was fucking right. He did want to save Cooper's skin. It was the only way he could have made himself do this – play it as a bet, a bluff, one he believed he actually had a chance to pull off. And of course he'd forced himself to be realistic, consider every possible outcome, including the one where he lost, big time. Only – theorizing sure as hell wasn't the same as facing the music.
Because – what if he lost?
As if reading his mind, the form on the bed wheezed, "I'm afraid you'll have to choose, Albert." Pupils black and hard and dangerous, and no longer quite amused. "You'll have to decide… if you want to have your cherry pie, or eat it. And I'm guessing you want your Cooper alive."
"This isn't life." Softly, anger creeping up into his throat and starting to spill over. "This is hell."
"Oh, the drama." Mocking, almost petulant now. "Do you seriously expect me to believe destroying me is worth his life to you? That you'll let him die a slow death? And don't give me the 'painless' talk, Albert. Death from asphyxiation? Really."
I trust you, Cooper had told him. I trust you to do the right thing.
"You're right," he said, and his blood was rushing loud, so very loud in his ears. "I won't." And pulled out the case from under the bed.
He barely heard when he clicked off the gun's safety.
The rest of it happened too fast to make sense of. Later, the only image that would keep replaying itself before his eyes was Cooper's head snapping up, which the toxin should have made impossible, except it clearly wasn't, then opening his mouth on a screech that was like a thousand nails scraping across blackboards, before lolling back like a puppet with its strings cut. Albert was already jumping in, but then something was flapping at his face, scratching, keening, except he couldn't see a thing and his hands were clawing at thin air. Somewhere in the chaos he dropped the gun, and there was a thump followed by an almighty crack that meant it had gone off right then and there.
He came back to himself disoriented, panting, to find Cooper's eyes open and looking straight at him. In retrospect, he'd never be able to tell why he'd been so sure this was Coop, whole and alive and with Bob gone (for now, at least; just for now, but he could live with that). Only that right then, he'd never been more convinced of anything in his life. Then Cooper moaned, and Albert was scrambling for his case, jerking out the syringe with the antidote.
"Albert, I'm so sorry," Cooper breathed, and his face was filling with memories, layers on layers on layers of them.
It took him three attempts to find a vein, but then the antidote was in, and he was fumbling for the phone, starting to dial 911.
"Don't." A whisper, but one that brooked as little resistance as if it had been shouted into his ear.
Albert sputtered. "Cooper, don't be a fool. Sure, there's an antidote, but that doesn't mean you're out of the woods. I have no intention of risking you folding from heart failure or an aneurysm just because –"
"And I'm not risking you being suspected of foul play." He'd already opened his mouth to protest, only to find the words sticking in his throat at the look on Cooper's face.
Slowly, through air that felt stifling and thick like syrup, he put down the receiver.
Whether it was that, the drop in adrenalin – which God knew he'd been running on for the past day or so – or just stupid lack of something solid in his stomach, he couldn't even say. Only that, suddenly, exhaustion was rolling over him like a wave, and he had to grip the edge of the mattress as his universe did a wild Hamilton spin before leaving him right side up again.
"Albert? Are you –" A hand collided with his knee, and he blinked furiously, shaking his head until his vision cleared. Caught the errant hand, looked down just in time to see Cooper's eyes widen, and –
God damn it –
Cooper's body spasmed, caught in a series of lurching shudders. Grabbing for the medical bag that had tumbled to the ground, Albert jerked out one of the dozen-or-so syringes he'd prepared to account for any complication he could think of – and then some. Studied the label and changed his mind, went for another one.
"What's..." Cooper lay still again, breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Painkiller," he muttered, biting his lip as he checked the dosage. "I told you, Coop, that antidote is one nasty bitch – this is likely to get worse before it gets better. And I still say I should have called – "
"No."
He stared. "What do you mean, no?"
"Please, Albert." The voice was too soft, and too much Cooper, to bear. "I would very much like to be... in control of myself. No drugs. Not unless you haveto." Another raging shudder, and Albert's hand moved instinctively to hold him down. "You understand that, don't you?"
He had no answer to that. Of course he hadn't. Put the syringe away with hands that were less than steady, and just sat beside Cooper as the night crept by, watching and waiting and cursing himself for being the sappy idiot he was. But he didn't touch the syringe again, and by the time dawn filtered through the windows, Cooper had slipped into a fitful sleep.
With a groan, Albert pushed himself up from the bed, stretching to work out a crick in his back. Eased himself into an armchair, looked down at the silent form next to him and let out an unsteady sigh of his own.
"Now what?" he muttered, darkly, at the ceiling. "We watch telly? Play checkers? I order in Chinese?" You walk out and find your Annie, we pretend none of this was goddamn real?
"We'll work something out, Albert." A murmur and the rustle of sheets, but Cooper's eyes had already closed again.
He was asleep in the chair before the words sank in.