Work Text:
One divine day in 1989, Gordon Cole was walking on a cloud. Quite suddenly, the enigmatic, evil landscape of Twin Peaks seemed closer to heaven than anywhere the FBI deputy chief had ventured before. Every belief Gordon had ever carried about Twin Peaks was inverted by the introduction of Miss Shelly Johnson, the town's resident goddess. The only thing rarer, and perhaps more precious, than her impossible beauty was her unique coherence.
“Miss Johnson!” Gordon called from the entrance of the Double R Diner.
Shelly answered with a calm wave, her genial voice as clear as a bell. Even a simple, “good evening,” sounded like poetry when the words fell from her plush red lips. She truly seemed an angel with her caramel curls glowing beneath the yellow lights.
When Gordon reached the counter, unconsciously holding a hand over his pounding heart, he cleared his throat. Up close, Shelly’s hypnosis intensified, her deep blue eyes sparkling like a starry summer night.
“Miss Johnson,” Gordon began slowly, “I have returned to this Double R Diner so that I can eat many more slices of pie to inspire the development of my epic pie poem.”
Shelly smiled contagiously, sweeter than any dessert. Only after his exclamation did Gordon remember it wasn't just him and the goddess in a perfect world—in fact, two booths were occupied. He continued with courageous optimism.
“I am… thrilled to find you remain present. And I wonder if you might allow me to occupy you with some pleasant conversation this evening.”
“Alright,” Shelly nodded, grinning. “Was that cherry pie?”
“Yes, please,” Gordon nodded. “And a piping hot cup of black coffee as well.” He paused briefly before gesturing for her to lean in closer, his smile growing. For just an instant, she shifted nearer than he could have ever dreamed, her long lashes distinct as her eyes lowered. “Miss Johnson, I continue to hear you loud and clear!”
She jolted slightly at the volume, but with a reassuring smile, she drifted away to fetch Gordon's order.
The coffee was rich and potent, the aroma so vivid and eager Gordon had practically tasted the drink by simply entering the establishment, but there was nothing quite like a first sip of hot java on a chilly evening. The bittersweet pair it made with a saccharine slice of cherry pie, perfectly tart, was a match made in heaven. If Shelly was as sweeter than pie, Gordon hoped he was something like coffee to match.
He occupied himself with some casework while the food, drink, and Shelly kept him company. The epic poem he had mentioned was a metaphor more than anything, the words blooming as indescribable feelings in his heart each time his eyes met Shelly's. Every look sent a swarm of butterflies up his stomach, rattled at his chest like a door knocker. His stay unfurled with several refills of coffee, and on a napkin beside him, he jotted some notes on possible phrases for a poem. More than pie, Shelly deserved a rhyme or verse.
The diner dimmed slightly with the sunset, and spinning on his stool to check how dark the sky had become, Gordon found something by the entrance he had failed to notice earlier.
“A jukebox!” he exclaimed, and Shelly smiled from across the counter. “Miss Johnson, this takes me right back to my younger days of hopping and bopping in the discotheques.” He jumped towards the machine with gusto to read the song listings, dragging a finger along the buttons. “What kinds of music do you enjoy? Pop music, perhaps? Or do you prefer rhythm and blues? What about easy listening?”
“Well… I like all kinds of music,” Shelly decided with a shy shrug. She transformed the simple act of wiping a counter into something elegant and graceful, Gordon noticed. He would have to jot that on his napkin later, refine the sentiment into something that actually made sense. For the time being, he would have to work with the material he already had.
“Miss Johnson,” he announced with a smirk, “You are easier to listen to than any song of the easy listening genre.”
Dropping her rag, Shelly concealed a giggle with the back of her hand. “Thank you.”
“In fact, when I am around you, I can hear music!” Gordon continued. “Now if you could please choose which song you'd like to hear.”
After inserting a coin in the jukebox, he beckoned her to join him. She selected a title he didn't recognize. Watching her sway slightly as the music began, Gordon couldn't glean much about the sound, only the rhythm. His heart wrenched slightly as he wondered about the song.
“A little soul music,” Shelly called it, but Gordon wished to know more.
Following her back to the counter, he discovered that the other customers had vanished. Only he and Shelly remained in the open area, and while Shelly continued tidying up, wiping the appliances and sweeping behind the counter, she began to hum a quiet melody, swaying slightly to its rhythm. The jukebox had fallen silent on Gordon's ears, but he immediately recognized the rhythm and knew she was singing the song from the machine.
He could scarcely suppress his awe—never before had he heard such a pure and enchanting sound. He could have listened to her voice forever, lived in it, swam in it, but instead, he simply sat with a hand curled around his coffee, trying to savour the sound.
SOUL MUSIC, he wrote on his napkin, and eventually, after downing the last of his coffee for extra courage, he scrounged up the courage to ask Shelly a question.
“Miss Johnson, would you dance with me?”
Shelly beamed. “Sure.”
Joining Gordon beyond the counter, her hand intertwined with his, soft and smooth, and gently, they swayed to the honey-sweet sound of her hum. The checkered tile dissolved beneath them as they rocked to the tender music, taking featherlight steps until Gordon noticed that the jukebox buttons had stopped glowing and the machine had probably stopped long ago, but Shelly continued the song nevertheless. With Shelly in his arms and her song soothing the midnight air, Gordon hoped the dance would never end. On that divine day in 1989, Twin Peaks truly was a slice of heaven.