Work Text:
Albert was always acutely aware of every change to Cooper's being, as if their souls were interconnected and grasping at each other's hands at any chance they got, thus he had stirred awake when his partner quietly left the bed from beside him and made his way gingerly to the toilet in the dark. He sighed, the warmth and comfort of the bed beckoning him back to sleep with an allure he would otherwise find impossible to reject, but given the early hours of the morning and Cooper's unease, he forces himself to stay awake.
He guesses it must be around 2am, right on schedule for Cooper's recurring discomfort, a pain in his psyche that even he can't soothe. He knows he isn't just getting up to piss, and so he waits quietly for him to come back, listening out for any call for help.
Albert is not typically an outwardly empathetic or affectionate person, resigning to keep it well hidden within his own hardened walls of stoicism and cynicism that guards his heart like mighty soldiers. Cooper had been one of the very very few to break through those barriers, to coax out the kinder and sappy nature of Albert's soul that he only reserves for Cooper. He believes no one has ever come as close as Cooper has to understanding his entire being, and he doesn't think anyone else will. He holds a very deep and ugly sense of insecurity hidden deep within the pit of his stomach that Cooper had wormed his way to and carefully soothed the pain
20 minutes pass, and the worry that now tugs at Albert's gut finally pulls him out of bed to check on Cooper. He makes his way through the dark apartment, its layout already mapped within his cognition and gently knocks on the bathroom door, cautious and slow.
“Coop?” he calls softly, a tone rarely used for anyone else
A quiet hum of acknowledgement is returned to him through the door, and he takes this as confirmation to open the it which he does so carefully, squinting from the light.
Cooper is rarely seen in positions of vulnerability and obvious discomfort. Albert finds his willingness to be vulnerable with him a paradoxical mix of a great privilege and a desire to rage against the entire universe so that it promises Cooper will always be ok, that he will never be frightened. It's terribly uncharacteristic, the way Cooper is knelt in front of the toilet almost as if he were praying at an altar. He's pale, hand balled in a fist on his thigh to stop the trembling and his eyes are wide and scared, reminiscent of a deer in the headlights.
Cooper had opened up about his intense fear of vomiting, his emetophobia, when the two had discussed their deepest fears over work lunch. It had ultimately come as a surprise to Albert, the charming and perfect Cooper who seems to swallow fear like its coffee brought to his knees by a normal bodily function.
“Why not just get over it?” he had asked, leaning against a counter “Generally the consensus is that you feel so much better once it's done - plus everyone does it, there's no danger. The bodies I examine all don't all come with a tag that reads ‘cause of death: vomiting’”
Cooper stared into his coffee for a long moment, idly playing with the handle of the mug before the words finally come to him
“I don't have much of an explanation, Albert,” he admits a little sheepishly, a small smile on his lips “I suppose it's the powerlessness of it all, but outside of that it's very irrational, I'm aware. I think it's because it is inescapable, the nausea that precedes fills me with an unbridled sense of doom that I am absolutely powerless against, the anxiety building for what is potentially to come. I once tried to find acceptance and peace within it, to feel the fear and let it empower me rather than rule me, but i suppose it is just a beast i can not slay”
Albert had then suddenly seen him in a different light, as if Cooper was an intricate origami now deconstructed and laid out flat and Albert is witness to every fold of his construction, a part of his psyche that he has been allowed to be privy to. He can't admit that he understands Cooper's fear, if anything the rational part of his brain is still struggling to comprehend why he doesn't just get over it, it's only vomiting after all - a quick minute of lurching into the toilet and it's over. Sure it's unpleasant, but he believes the positives outweigh the negatives. But at the end of the day, its cooper, beautiful dear cooper so steadfast in his optimism for the world around him and to do what is right and good that Albert had to swallow the sudden overwhelming urge to hold him right there in the bureau break room, to remove his innocent and childlike fear over something so trivial.
And so now Albert is crouched beside him on the bathroom floor, a position he has found himself in a number of times before, watching him anxiously rub his own thigh as an attempt in self soothing.
“Oh Coop” he whispers, reaching a comforting hand to his back, skin hot under his t-shirt.
“Please don't touch me Albert” he says rather urgently, tensing away ever so slightly and Albert has come to understand this reaction, that Cooper is so nauseous that he feels any disruption or adjustment to his body would cause him to spill his guts everywhere. And against his caretaker instincts, he allows Cooper his space, knowing he will come to him when he's eventually ready for touch, when the crippling nausea has subsided.
They sit in silence for some time, Cooper staring into the toilet bowl as if it were the barrel of a shotgun and breathing heavily through his nose. Albert can do nothing but be with him, trying to ignore the pain of the bathroom tiles beneath him and the tiredness creeping in his mind.
A moment longer, then cooper releases a shaky breath, seeming to relax a touch as he pulls himself away from the toilet bowl
“It's subsiding” he says quietly, as if scared his own body will hear him and he looks to Albert, a great tiredness in his eyes and worry knotting his brow. “I’m sorry, it's really quite childish i know, but thank you for being here with me”
And he means it, and Albert smiles at him “it is childish” he acknowledges, but not cruelly “we all have our Achilles heel coop, no ones invincible to human nature, to fear”
Cooper shivers, his body starting to regulate itself from its previous heightened anxiety. He's still nauseous, but it's dull and not so aggravating on his nervous system. He reaches a clammy hand to Albert's, slipping it between his fingers and relaxing into the feeling of Albert's skin against his own, warm and a little rough - beautifully tactile.
“Bed?” Albert offers, noting that Cooper seems to have slipped out of his trance from within the toilet bowl and appears more lucid. And cooper just nods, letting Albert stand first with some stiffness and pain from the hard tiles before taking his helping hand, standing slowly and shakily like a newborn foal and the two make their way back to bed, cooper moving with much care and deliberation, like one wrong move will send him off again.
Albert lays on his side to face Cooper, who can only muster sitting up in bed for now, back supported against the headrest by pillows. His body is now processing the fear and intense anxiety which causes him to tremble as if cold with no cure, shakes raking through his body almost methodically. This particular symptom is not unusual to Albert, and Cooper takes it as a sign that he has no cause for worry anymore, that he has been through the worst of it and his nervous system is shaking off the stress like a wet dog. There will be more waves of nausea to come in the hour and Cooper knows this, but none as intense as before, at least that seems to be the schedule it adheres to.
Albert muses quietly within himself that a highly trained and skilled FBI field agent can be rendered to a shaking mess from simple nausea, and he visualises it weaving its way through Cooper's psyche, like a key cut to perfectly match the channels that unlock his fear. Of course Cooper's been fearful before, fearful for the fate of others, fearful that maybe no matter how hard he tries he isn't enough, never enough to save someone- but this is a far more primitive fear, one that pulls at his vagus nerve, something inescapable that can't be swallowed, something that screams and cries and demands to be felt.
“Albert?” Cooper asks quietly into the darkness, still trembling, and Albert grunts in response beside him, not yet asleep with hand still clasped in his. “I’m so tired of this” he admits openly, seemingly full of grief, and albert can do nothing but pull himself closer to cooper, agonising in all the ways he is powerless in this battle
“Fear is a strange thing sweetheart” he mumbles into his side, idly rubbing his thumb over Cooper's fingers, “there is no shame in this display and you are still the man that you are. I am no stranger to all the ways your body can seem like your number one enemy - all that we can do is acknowledge it and try to understand it in the way that it is. I love you dale cooper, things will always turn out ok” and Albert could never tire of the millions of ways he can comfort cooper, all the pretty words he can whisper into him to quell that anxiety within him, to help return him back to the boyishly confident and slightly overzealous special agent dale cooper.
“Oh Albert” he breathes, carefully sliding further into bed and now only half propped up, his free hand finding the side of Albert's face and jaw and he cups him there, finding himself grounded by proof of Albert's existence right beside him, under his hand. His shakes are subsiding, and he feels another wave of nausea creeping itself to his stomach, but he keeps himself where he is, almost in awe at the man next to him
“Oh cooper” he mocks lightly, sleepy and playful and opens one eye to peer up at him in the darkness, coopers silhouette the only discernible thing.