Chapter Text
The forecast was calling for rain tonight, but that’s how almost every December evening is in Washington. Harry had been told to meet Coop at the Roadhouse, and to quote Cooper, “for no particular reason”.
Harry rolled up in his navy Ford Bronco, preparing himself for fast transitions between talking about clues in the Laura Palmer case to animals Cooper saw while he was taking a hike. Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t find it endearing.
Harry was wondering why Coop would want to hang out outside of work hours instead of… Doing whatever it is Coop does when he’s not working or drinking coffee. Harry’s mind wandered to thinking about other reasons for such an impromptu meeting, but didn’t want to get his hopes up.
Stepping in, Harry was hit with the fumes of alcohol, the sounds of laughter and Julee Cruise’s nearly Angelic high pitched singing mixed with the tones of a saxophone, thrum of a bass guitar and pitter patter of hi-hat, luring him in. He spotted Coop sitting in a booth by the window, fidgeting with that damn tape recorder and talking to it. Harry slid into the cracked linoleum booth in front of Cooper, slightly startling him.
“Oh, hello Harry. I was admiring the music before you came in. Lovely, right?”
“Yeah, I guess… Hey Coop, is there a ‘specific’ reason you wanted to see me? Not that I don’t want to see you or anything…” Cooper gave him a look of exasperation so hard to notice, only Cooper’s closest friends would notice. Harry noticed.
“No Harry, if I did I’d ask to meet up at the station. Uh, well I thought you deserved to have a moment of… Peace. Outside of sleeping, I suppose.” Cooper sighed and scrunched his face up, continuing to fidget with the tape recorder.
Harry considered what Cooper said. The whole town needed a moment of peace, not just Harry. Small towners including the police department were not prepared for Laura’s death, and Harry had a horrible feeling that only more horrors would surface. But he was here with Cooper, not realizing he was staring at him. Coop stared back. Worrying can wait.
Harry got up and intertwined his fingers with Cooper’s and led him to the dance floor, not waiting for an answer.
The sheriff gazed at the agent he had in the palms of his hands, the blue and red lighting casts purple shadows on Cooper’s pale, soft skin. ‘Like snow in one of the mid February flurries’ Harry thought. Coop’s mouth is slightly open, he clearly wasn’t expecting this.
Soon they’re dancing, clinging onto each other like if they let go they’d die. The chatter and clinking of glasses is drowned out by the gentle jazz playing a couple of feet from where Harry and Coop were dancing. When the song ended they separated, but only barely. Then they closed the newly made gap again, pressing their lips together.
“Harry, I love you.”
“I know Coop. Let’s get outta here.”