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Harry Truman stood beside the kitchen table, looking slightly stunned at the multitude of tupperware and food tins stacked there.
"They do know no one has actually died yet, right?" Albert Rosenfield snarled beside him, and Dale Cooper reached across Harry's front to touch his hand.
"Albert," he said warningly.
"No," Harry said. "He has a point. I'm not... I'm not dead yet."
"They know that." Dale picked up an old margarine spread tub and opened it up to find half a quart of scalloped potatoes. "The thought is that with everything going on, we would appreciate not having to worry about food. And we do appreciate that, gentlemen—right?"
Harry shrugged. Albert opened the lid of a tupperware to reveal a fruit salad suspended in cherry jello and gagged.
"Well, I appreciate it, if nothing else." Dale put the potato salad back onto a dangerously tall pile of dishes. "It will be nice not to have to cook." He clapped a hand to Harry's shoulder. "Harry, why don't you pick what we eat for dinner tonight?"
Harry looked doubtfully at the piles of food. He said nothing.
"Harry?"
Without a word, Harry turned and walked off to the living room. Albert gave Dale a look and followed him.
"What's up, cowboy?" Dale heard him ask. "Nausea?"
"Just not hungry."
Dale sighed and began escorting various foodstuffs to the refrigerator.
"Do I have to give you the lecture where I explain that food is necessary for fighting off cancer?"
"Leave me alone, Albert."
"Food's purpose is to give the body energy. Without food, you're running on fumes."
"Albert."
A plastic container clearly marked "Moran" drew Dale's attention. He opened the container and found a mysterious green puree of unknown origin. He gave it a sniff that made him wrinkle his nose.
"Running on fumes is not sustainable at the best of times, let alone in the middle of chemo."
"I told you, I'm not hungry."
"And I told you..."
"Gentlemen," Dale interrupted, bringing his dish to the living room with him. "There's no reason to argue."
"Agree to disagree," Albert snapped.
"I'm sure Harry will eat when he's feeling up to it. Won't you, Harry?"
Before Harry could answer, Albert butted in with, "He needs more food than he's been getting."
"I know that, Albert. And so does Harry."
Harry reached for the remote and flipped the television on, paging through the channels until he found a hockey game.
"Does he, though? Does he really?"
"Albert. You've made your point."
"I don't think I have." Albert ran a hand impatiently through his thinning hair. Dale stepped forward and cupped Albert's face in his hands.
"Albert," he said, his voice calm. "Breathe."
"You fucking breathe."
"You're letting your fear get the better of you."
"Somebody in this damn family ought to be scared," Albert growled. "Leukemia kills people, you idiots."
Harry made a snuffling noise and turned his face away. Dale reached for his hand, but he pulled it away.
"It'll be okay," Dale said quietly.
Albert snorted. "You can't possibly know that."
"You can't possibly know it won't."
Albert just stared at him. "So, where does that leave us? At an impasse?"
"That leaves us cautiously hopeful." As if to prove his point, Dale swooped a finger through the green stuff and tasted a bit. "Mm. That's actually pretty good. Gentlemen, you should try this." Albert looked doubtfully at the green stuff, but Dale held out what was left on his finger, and a glance at Harry was all he needed to try a bit. He frowned, but inclined his head as if to concede that it was, in fact, pretty good. "Harry, will you try some? For me and Albert?"
Harry looked even more doubtful than Albert, but he dipped a finger into the mess and dared a small lick. After a moment, he reached out with both hands to take the container.
"Good?" Dale asked him, handing it over.
"Better than sex," he said, scooping a generous helping onto his finger. "Wait, there's almonds in here?" Dale scooped out another bit to test out that theory and was inclined to agree.
"You are both disgusting," Albert said. "Get a fork, you hippies."
"You know you love us," Harry said.
"And you're lucky I do." Albert sighed and sank down on the couch beside him. "You could at least share." Harry offered him a small scoop cradled in his fingers. "God, why do I do this, again?" Harry shrugged and made to lick off his fingers, but Albert grabbed him by the wrist and put a stop to it. "I didn't say I didn't want any."
Harry laughed for the first time in a while. He leaned his head against Albert's shoulder and let him clean off his fingers.
"See, Albert?" Dale asked, helping himself to another bit of the green stuff. "With the proper refreshments, we can get him to eat."
"You know I'm going to insist on something more nutritious than 'green stuff with almonds.'"
"Donuts?" Harry suggested.
"Oh my god."
"This tastes like pistachio." Dale helped himself to another scoop. "I don't know what it is, but Lucy knocked it out of the park, as they say."
"Have to ask her for the recipe," Harry said.
"If you'll eat it, of course we will."
"See?" Albert said. "I'm not the only one worrying."
"I'm not trying to worry you. I just... All that food just makes it more real. You know? 'Now all of Twin Peaks knows you're sick,' that kind of thing."
Dale curled himself on the couch beside him and put a hand on Harry's head, ruffling his hair gently. "We don't know, Harry. You have to tell us."
"You mean you can't just read my mind?" he joked half-heartedly. "What's the point in having two FBI agents for boyfriends, then?"
"You have the benefit of my stunning good looks and his ability with a gun," Albert said.
Harry smiled and shook his head, and Dale laughed.
"There is that," he said, squeezing his arm around Harry's shoulders. "Harry, we love you. You know that, don't you?"
"Yeah." Harry patted Dale's hand as it rested on his shoulder. He put an arm around Dale and an arm around Albert and held on. "I know."