Chapter Text
Harry's not sure how he ended up madly in love with Dale Cooper but in hindsight it seemed inevitable–a cosmic truth that he could not escape.
When the one year anniversary of Dale’s disappearance began to approach, Harry had taken the week off, the first holiday he had taken in years. If any of the deputies knew the significance of him taking that particular week off–they didn't voice it. They just waved him off cheerily, wishing him a well deserved rest.
Harry had never drank so much in his life.
Each night he had screamed Dale’s name into the woods over and over until his voice was hoarse and his feet couldn't carry him anymore. On the actual anniversary of Dale’s disappearance, Harry woke up lying face down in the mud with empty bottles of alcohol scattered next to him.
At the time he was certain he was still dreaming because it was Frank who had hauled him into a sitting position–the brother he had not seen in over 4 years.
Harry had been issued a week long stay at the hospital and a 6 month suspension for his long overdue mental collapse. When Harry made it home, someone had tidied the house he trashed and his brother temporarily moved in with him again. Hawk later revealed that he had called Frank weeks earlier because he knew Harry had been unraveling for months now.
Harry desperately tried to reason with himself why Dale’s disappearance had affected him so viscerally–why Dale’s disappearance had put a hole in his soul where not even Josie had touched. He tried to tell himself that it was the mystery that bothered him so much. The unanswered questions, the ‘not-knowing’ aspect of Dale’s disappearance–
But the tears he cried into his pillow at night always revealed the truth. The stolen glances, the causal touches, the inside jokes, his crooked smile, his eyes… Harry just missed him so damn much. A man he had known for less than 4 weeks had somehow slotted into Harry's life like he had always been there–like he belonged there, forever.
Harry had never experienced a type of synchronicity like he had with Dale. Never experienced that kind of easy affection and chemistry with anyone else. And now that he was gone, Harry was sure he had lost a part of himself.
–
It was another 6 years later before Dale was finally found.
Sitting with his legs dangling over the same bridge they found Ronette. His once meticulously groomed hair was now tangled and matted with dry blood. His suit was torn to shreds, revealingly long, ropey scars down his arm that looked like scorched tree roots.
Harry had always thought the man looked incredibly youthful for his age, with his unblemished, smooth skin and bright eyes.
But now Dale absolutely looked his age, 42. He looked older in fact. Exhausted, worn out, positively drained. And it wasn't his deeply purple under eyes, stress lines and little flecks of gray in his hair that aged him...
No, it was his eyes.
There was a glassy apathetic look in eye, the type of look that had no room for joy or whimsy. His usual curious, bright eyed spark had been replaced with something colder, jaded.
Dale spent the next few weeks lying in the hospital, repeating 'what year is this?’ over and over until he eventually dissolved into saying random disjointed words nobody could make sense of “Dougie Jones, Mr Jackpot, Judy, 2017..”
The rest of the time he spent either spilling backwards nonsensical sentences or with his jaw clamped tightly shut–as if he was afraid of what would come out of his mouth.
7 years ago, Harry had only seen the man irritated twice. Once when questioning Bobby Briggs and once with Ben Horne. But in these few weeks in hospital, he seemed bothered by everyone. Andy, Lucy, Audrey, Gordon, heck even Denise.
One time Harry was sure that Albert and Dale had somehow managed to get into an argument without using any words. Albert had stormed out of the room muttering something about ‘damn stubbornness’ and Dale just turned to face the window with a faraway look in his eye, barely acknowledging Harry's presence at all that day.
But Harry did not mind.
They sat in a comfortable silence most days. Sometimes Harry read aloud from the newspaper and sometimes they played card games together. But usually Dale sat on his bed whittling, while Harry powered through his station reports. That seemed to suit Dale just fine because Harry was sure he saw the man smile several times from the corner of his eye.
The one thing they didn't do was try to talk.
Harry never pushed or prodded for information about Dale’s time away. Years of being the Sheriff showed him that sometimes, you just have to wait for someone to be ready to talk. And Harry was certain he would wait forever and ever for his friend to come back to him.
That must have been something Dale appreciated because Harry’s company was definitely the one he tolerated the most. He welcomed it in fact, always affectionately bleating the word “Badge” everytime Harry entered the room. Dale had yet to address anyone else by their name, and this felt like his first attempt to do so. A special nickname only used for Harry.
--
A few weeks later Harry walked into the room to find the man was sitting up in his bed, staring out of the window with that same faraway look in his eye. His jaw was moving awkwardly like tension was blooming from his shoulders to his mouth.
Courage had found Harry that morning, so he went and sat himself on the man's bed. “Coop. That can’t be good for your teeth.” He said gently, reaching out to brush the back of his fingers against the man's jaw. “If you…if you need to talk, I'm right here.”
Dale closed his eyes and leaned into Harry's touch, instantly relaxing his jaw when Harry cupped his cheek with his palm.
In that moment Harry felt his heartbeat begin to pick up in a way had not done so in many, many years. It had him suddenly blurting out “I miss you.”
There was no time to be mortified because Dale immediately blinked in surprise. And for the first time since he returned, there was that old familiar curiosity in his eyes. Suddenly Harry was staring into the face of his old friend, the real Dale Cooper–bright eyed and full of fascination.
Harry stared back like he was witnessing a miracle.
Quickly he leaned forward and cupped his other hand on his face. “Cooper buddy, I mean it. I do miss you..."
There was an alertness in Dale's eyes that spurred him to continue without thinking.
"I miss hearing you talk to your tape recorder. I miss your long-winded speeches about Tibet. I miss you sitting in my passenger seat asking questions about the town and talking about the new pie flavour you just had.” He tipped his hat up with his thumb, looking at the man earnestly as he spoke. “Do you remember that time we were sitting in the diner, you read some kinda report about air travel in the newspaper. And for the whole day you wouldn't stop going on and on about commercialism and how it affected airport queues…god I miss that. How passionate you were about the most mundane thi–.”
Dale smiled at him toothily and tugged Harry into a hug. The first one they shared in years. It was the most heartfelt he had ever experienced. It was warm, sturdy, comforting–just like the one they shared in the Bookhouse all those years ago.
Harry willed himself not to cry as he practically melted into his friend's arms.
For the first time in a years, Harry felt something akin to healing in his soul.
—
As if all Harry’s prayers had been answered, the next day he arrived at the hospital to find Dale was standing up, hands on his hips, grinning in his hospital gown.
“Harry, I believe there is a slice of pie and a cup of coffee down at the RR with my name on it.” He gave his signature thumbs up and Harry thought he could faint right there.
It was the first coherent sentence he said since his return and it had Harry gathering the man up in his arms and crying tears of joy against his friend’s shoulder.
And once Dale had started talking again. He did not stop.
He spoke about a void-eyed doppelganger tearing apart the town. He spoke of events and deaths that had not happened. He spoke of ‘Dougie Jones’. Of a wife and son. Friends Harry had never heard of. He also spoke about timelines and other worlds.
He spoke tentatively about Laura–her aged face and warm hand in his. Claiming that he had left her in a better world, one where no harm will ever come to her.
-
It was another week later before he was finally released, after reluctantly being declared physically sound by the doctors.
He was put on medical leave by the FBI so Harry was unable to officially 'deputise’ him this time. But that didn’t stop the man hanging around the station–glued to Harry's side like there was nowhere else he belonged.
It would be an understatement to say that the light in Harry's life had been let back in. Harry was happier than he had been in a very long time and everyone knew it. Norma and Shelly were beyond elated to see him back at their diner once more. Hawk and Ed began arranging more nights out for the bookhouse boys. His brother started talking more on the phone, no longer were they doomed to awkward silences and quick goodbyes.
Even the likes of Ben Horne had given Harry a firm shoulder shake before meeting his eye evenly, giving a tense. ‘Glad you’re back, Sheriff.’
And Dale…well Dale moved into the hearts of the townsfolk just as easily as he did the first time.
In the midst of the tragic aftermath, it was difficult to remember how easily the man had become a bit of a town darling in 1989. But looking at him now, it was so easy to see how Dale had gently warmed the souls of everyone he spoke to.
And Harry's soul was beyond warmed, he was set ablaze.
He couldn't ignore the pull this time around. He couldn't reason away his affection for the man. Not when Dale was everything he was back then–kind, smart, incredibly handsome.
It didn't help that they fell right back to how they were before Dale left. They were just as in-sync as they were back then, as if there was never a 7 year absence between them. Easy smiles, shared coffee breaks, stolen glances, lingering touches…
A few months later they were at the Roadhouse. Dale had wanted to see the live singer that was playing there that night. It was the first time Harry had been there since his time in rehab. Hawk and Ed had come along too, both not-so-subtly keeping an eye on Harry. None of them had any alcohol–nor did Harry feel the allure of it anymore. It didn't surprise Harry in the least that they all still thoroughly enjoyed the evening without it.
Dale’s loose hair and loose smile was enough to get Harry dizzyingly drunk anyway.
He offered Dale a lift back to his temporary bureau-issued apartment, but somehow they decided to head to Harry’s first place to grab his old guitar for Dale. In his passenger seat, Dale was brimming with joy, talking about the effects live music had on the human soul. Harry smiled as he nodded along, just warmed and happy by the man's presence.
When he pulled up the driveway Dale was looking at him, almost teary eyed and reverently. Harry was not sure what he did to warrant a look like that but it took his breath away. The man looked so beautiful in the low light of the car that something bold manifested in Harry's chest and he was leaning over to kiss him.
When he tried to pull back –with a hastily apology on the tip of his tongue–Dale quickly balled his fists into his shirt and hauled Harry against his chest. They kissed in the car like it was the last kiss they would ever have. Hurriedly, uncoordinated, with teeth clashing and nails scraping.
And as far as kisses go, it was the best damn kiss of his life.
They were still kissing as Harry walked him backwards up the porch, almost tripping over a rock in the path, not parting from his lips for even a second. Dale pressed him up against the doorframe, hands on his jaw, laughing against his mouth as Harry's clumsy hands fumbled for the keys.
They barely made it through the door before Harry was back on him. Tipping him into the couch and clambering on top–kissing at his sharp jawline as his hands began to wander under his shirt. Harry doesn't know how long they stayed like that, just touching, exploring each other, both alive and electric. When he grazed his fingers over Dale’s nipple and the man arched his back into the touch–Harry knew he needed something more.
He’s not sure how this would work. They’re both men and he didn't know much about gay sex outside a couple of photos he saw in a porno magazine decades ago.
But Dale was looking up at him with wet swollen lips and heated glass eyes and Harry doesn't care how it happens, he just wants him.
And he had him.
That night Dale rode him into the mattress, fucking himself frantically and desperately on Harry's cock. Whimpering his name each time Harry thrust up in time to his bounces. The whole ordeal was too hard and too fast and oh so very perfect– Harry shouted his name as his orgasm hit him hard and Dale pitched forward and came silently– his face looking like the holiest thing Harry has ever seen.
They laid in bed afterwards, panting and laughing into each other's mouth between kisses. Dale’s fingertips trailed over the nail indents he left on Harry's chest as Harry kissed the freckles on his shoulder.
Harry watched with a full heart as Dale laid on the pillow next to him, cheeks pink from the afterglow, hair loose– looking happy and soft while talking at length about some new Tibetean architectural feat he read about. And Harry…Harry was overwhelmed by the fact that Dale looked… okay.
Like the man was not on a long-term medical leave for his mental state. Like he was not suffering from the trauma of the Black lodge. Like he was not suffering from anything at all. Harry wanted to keep him here like this forever, safe and content.
The morning after, Dale's hands were wandering again, brushing up against Harry’s thighs and tugging at his hair. Harry laughed as he was hauled out of bed and into the bathroom to brush his teeth before kissing. Dale decided to give him a rather unsexy speech about dental hygiene as they brush their teeth and Harry mades a mental note not to feed the man so many damn pies after learning of his 6 cavities. Minutes later they’re back in the tangled sheets and Harry can taste his own toothpaste in Dale’s mouth.
The air was heated and sticky between them as they laid together, softly kissing and grinding against eachother. It wasn't long before Harry was sliding his hand down to palm at the man's cock, whispering low against his ear. “Teach me how to make you feel good…”
And Dale did just that, giving a detailed lecture on the different ways to pleasure a man, how to keep teeth tucked back during a blow job and the proper way to do anal–’with care’ he stressed.
A few minutes later Harry pushed his slicked fingers into him. It was easier today, his body still loose from the night before. They were in no rush, Harry took his time with him–setting a languid pace as he fingered the man.
Harry was enamoured.
He was sure he could do something like this forever, watching the man writhing beneath, gasping every time he pressed at that spot. Harry prayed a sinful thankyou for the sight of Dale Cooper laying under him, blissed out, overwhelmed in pleasure, taking his fingers so beautifully.
A man who doesn't love easily, loves too much.
It might be the post-coital glow interfering with Harry's brain, but Harry was sure he was already in love with Dale. He was sure of it from the moment he saw him sitting on that bridge. Perhaps even the moment Dale said his final goodbye to him 7 years ago.
But when the man finally pried himself from Harry's sheets, it was almost awkward. Dale left with a quick wink and his trademark thumbs up–his usual friendly way he said goodbye to Harry after a long shift. No romantic kiss or talk of feelings.
Harry laid in his bed overthinking the whole ordeal for hours after. Dale Cooper, ‘the master of body language’, must have known how Harry felt before he stumbled into his bed, he must have known it for a longer time than Harry in fact.
But he didn't mention it.
—
The next few days they were excruciatingly busy at the station. They only manage to work themselves up for one solid kiss in Harry's office. The rest of the time was just stolen glances and knees touching under the desk.
It's over 2 weeks later the second time they finally get their hands on eachother again. It was just as dizzying, electric as the first time. It’s almost too-perfect in fact. Almost as if he and Dale were just as compatible here as they were in every other aspect of their lives.
Afterwards they laid together–breathless and deliciously sore, neither of them spoke for 20 minutes. Harry just propped himself up on his elbow, kissing at the man's neck and jaw languidly. He looked down at his flushed face, hazel eyes, soft hair and Harry was pretty sure he was looking at an angel.
He thought of how long it took him to tell Josie that he loved her, he knew he couldn't make those mistakes again. Not now, not with Dale.
“Coop, I lo-” Harry was interrupted as Dale laughed softly, batting his chin away.
Harry blinked down confused, ready to tell him again. But there was a sharp touch of apprehension in Dale’s eyes and it pained Harry to look at it.
A pleading look that said No.
The man bizarrely kept darting his eyes towards the window, as if someone could possibly hear them on Harry's private property, two stories up.
Harry didn't have it in him to be hurt by Dale’s rejection. Dale had experienced a fate worse than death. He had been stuck in isolation for over 7 years–or possibly even 25 years judging by some of his disjointed ‘future memories’. Harry can’t imagine what something like that would do to someone’s sense of love.
Dale pulled him down into a soft kiss and Harry felt an apology through his lips. He was so overwhelmed by how much he loved Dale, he kissed him back with a ferocity he didn't know he was capable of. When he pulled back, Dale still had a little crinkle above his eyebrow and Harry had to fix that right away.
He leaned down and pinched his nose with a quack, causing a pearly laugh from the man–the best sound Harry had heard in years.
Later, lying alone in his bed, he realised he just doesn't care if Dale never returns his feelings. Harry felt enough love for the both of them. If Dale wanted to have his cake and eat it, that was fine by Harry, he’d buy the man the whole damn bakery if he wanted.
-
So their friendship remained largely the same. They work together, eat together, laugh together, it's as easy as it ever was. Except they fuck now too, they hold hands under the table and kiss in the small nooks in the station.
Dale doesn't bring up the fact that Harry looks at him like he hung the moon and stars.
Harry doesn't bring up the fact that Dale keeps attempting to tell him penguin jokes.
And neither of them brings up the fact that Dale sometimes wore Harry’s plaids to work and Harry wores his enthusiastic bite-marks on his skin.
And the sex. Sex with Dale is the best he has ever had. It was intense and heady and perfect. Harry was reluctant to call it love-making…but that's exactly what it was. With tender touches and chasing kisses, Dale lets Harry be soft with him in a way his past lovers never had. Dale was as passionate and curious about Harry as he was about everything else in his life, Harry was sure he had never been with anyone so tentative.
So completely compatible.
–
They continued like that for months. Harry tried hard to barricade his heart, keep them placed in a strictly friends-with-benefits stage…but it was difficult.
Dale was making it difficult.
Harry couldn't ignore the way Dale’s lips began to linger too long, the way he started to play with Harry's fingers under the table, the way he gushed about him to Diane on his tape recorder. The way he tucked himself into Harry's neck to fall asleep. The way he chanted Harry’s name over and over during sex like a mantra.
Everytime Dale slept over, Harry can't help but wonder what the man really wanted. What he really felt.
But there's not much space to touch upon the subject again as Harry began to notice there was something very troubling happening within the man's soul.
Harry saw the hurt the man was cradling like a bird with a broken wing. He noted the way Dale didn't smile as much, he didn't point out the trees and animals in car journeys like he used to–he held himself small, holding his coffee and his folders with both hands, close to his chest–like he was always trying to protect himself.
He whimpered in his sleep. Sometimes calling out for his mother, sometimes Laura and more recently Harry. When Harry questioned him about it Dale always brushed it off with a furrowed brow and a puzzled smile.
Harry would have left it like that but he had been woken up several times to the sound of the man whispering to himself in the bathroom mirror when he thought Harry was still asleep. The same "heal…heal…heal…” before croaking out a broken ‘please…’
And nothing could have prepared Harry for the fact that Dale sometimes vomited black sludge. Usually after a nightmare. Sometimes after a car journey that passes the woods. Always murmuring about giants and tulpas for hours after.
But the most unnerving thing about Dale was the faraway look in the man's eye as he stared out the windows. Whispering backwards sentences to himself as if in a trance until Harry coaxed him away and drew the curtains.
–
One night, they were lying together with their foreheads pressed together. Harry gently brushed his fingers over the strange marks trailing down Dale’s arms when he finally worked up the nerve to ask. “Coop…” He whispered softly. “What are these?”
The man was scarred all over in a way Harry had never seen before. Long ropey burn marks trailed down his skin. They looked as if someone had scratched him with scorching fingernails, as if someone had tried to frantically grab him and drag him back from the hell he escaped.
Dale glanced over to the window before smiling in a way Harry could not decipher. “Souvenirs from a world beyond.”
It wasn't much of an answer but it was the first time Dale had acknowledged them. Harry rewarded him with a kiss to his forehead before wrapping his arms tighter around the man. Praying desperately to a god he did not believe in for Dale’s peace of mind.
—
It was a usual busy day in the summer when Dale bustled through his office door with a wide-eyed panicked stare. “Harry. You were sick.”
“Uh, what?”
Dale approached his desk rapidly, not taking his eyes off of Harry. “When I went to 2014. I remember now. You were not in your office when I arrived to Twin Peaks. Frank Truman was there in your steed.” He placed his hands on top of the desk, leaning forward with a wired look in his. “I tried to find you…I did. You were the first person I tried to ring when my mental faculties came back. But you were not there.”
“Frank?” Harry blinked. “You met my brother?”
Dale faltered immediately, as if suddenly remembering something. He suddenly dropped to his knees and frantically motioned for Harry to do the same. There was a stark fear on the man's face that Harry had only seen once in the whole time he knew him. It was the same fear he saw when they were staring down a barrel of a gun during their rescue of Audrey Horne at the One Eyed Jack’s.
Harry squinted his eyes in confusion and swallowed hard, knowing he was suddenly dealing with a situation he was not prepared for. He quickly got up from his desk and flipped the sign on his door to ‘meeting in progress.’
He closed his blinds on his way back to the desk before picking up his mug of coffee and dropping down in front of Dale. Pulling the pile of reports off his desk, he settled his back against the bookcase to continue his work from the floor.
Before he could question the man, Dale pressed his lips against his own hurriedly. “Harry…” He spoke against his lips before kissing him again, gentler. “Harry, It is a strange, strange world out there. I have witnessed strangeness and oddities beyond human comprehension. But you…you are the one who stumps me the most.”
Harry inhaled softly, he never really knew what to with these grand ‘non-confessions’ from Dale. He was doing it more often now, especially during sex where he couldn't stop running his mouth. Harry found it bizarre that the man still hadn't acknowledged any real feelings between them but he was happy making these lyrical statements that always swept Harry off his feet.
He just gave him a small smile and took a sip of his coffee. “You’re an oddity, Coop.”
Dale seemed to have liked that because he immediately broke out into his usual lopsided grin before mirroring Harry's posture. “Indeed I am.” He slipped a report from under Harry's pile and settled comfortably next to him, pulling a pen from his breast pocket.
—
A week later Dale didn't react to Harry entering the bathroom, he just kept his face down by the sink, washing it over and over. “Harry, it was a dream like no other. I saw his face–my doppelganger. So starkly real and tangible. That place is calling to me, like a raven crawing in the morning.”
Harry knew what he wanted to do, he thought about it often before they found Dale.
He wanted to scorch down the whole damn woods. Leave nothing left. No trees or owls to claim Dale for their own. No opening to that evil place. Just ash and dust.
He knew he would never, ever be granted the permission to rid the town of the woods. Even with the FBI backing them up. The woods were considered a cultural landmark. It was protected by many organisations and beloved by the townsfolk.
But he wanted to do it. He was 46 years old, dammit. He had spent 7 torturous years searching for Dale. And he would have searched for another 50 years if he had too. If he had to spend 25 years in prison for arson, so be it.
He knew he could do it.
For Dale.
Gasoline cans, matches, the whole 9 yards. Set the whole thing ablaze, set Dale’s soul free...
“What if we just…burn it down?” Harry said leaning on the doorway.
“Hm?”
“The woods. If we scorched it, there would be no Black Lodge at all. No dreams. No doppelgangers, nothing.”
Dale finally turned the faucets off before reaching for the towel and drying his face. He turned around with a small smile on his face–warm and amused, as if he hadn't just violently vomited for the last 10 minutes.
“Harry.” He chided lightly. “The Black Lodge is not a physical place in that sense. It is a manifestation from the human psyche. A partition between two worlds.” He took ahold of Harry's hand and guided him back to the bedroom. “Fire can not touch it.”
“We could try.” Harry said as they settled down into bed.
“No, no we absolutely should not. I’m surprised at you, Harry. You usually leave the flights of fanciful thinking to me.” He smiled before gently turning Harry's cheek to face him. “Harry it is imperative that we do not let our…personal feelings get in the way of our duties as protectors. We must never let ourselves be guided through the lense of hatred. It would be very… out of character for you to bring harm to a creature as majestic as the Twin Peaks woods on my behalf.”
Dale gave him a quick peck on the cheek before settling his head against Harry's shoulder, with his palm laid over his heart. Harry began trailing his fingers down his arm like he always did, ghosting over the man's burn scars.
“I’m not so sure it would be out of character for me, Coop...” He said quietly.
“Well I am sure. As sure as water is wet and the mountains are high. I can not claim to be an expert on many things anymore, but I can confidently claim to be an expert on my dear friend Harry S Truman. The man who moves snails off the sidewalk, who sings gently to his chickens in the mornings, who soothingly taps the old oak tree in the square when he passes…that man will not bring harm to the woods without causing great distress to his own soul.” He sighed gently against Harry's chest. “The woods might be a hellish burden for one single agent, but it is the closest thing to heaven for many townsfolk and creatures-alike. The birds, the insects, the plants…they do not need to suffer because I had.”
“Yeah, yeah okay.” He glanced at the clock and scrubbed his face tiredly. Every day this week Dale had woken him up at this ungodly hour, whatever was plaguing the man's mind seemed to be getting worse. Just do it. Burn the whole place down.
Dale blinked up as if he heard Harry's thought. “Harry, you must take care not to lose yourself…for me. You are, above everything, sweet. And sweetness is not a bad quality to have, not at all. It’s what makes you the perfect Sheriff. The perfect man to protect this town.” He paused for a moment, dropping his head to lay over Harry's heart, wrapping his arm tightly around his midriff. “It’s what makes me…so very fond of you. I would miss you very much if you were lost to me.”
Harry just sighed before dropping a kiss onto the man's head forehead.
—
It was another week later when Dale knocked on his door. Drenched from the rain, covered in a thick layer of mud and not wearing a coat.
He held both hands clasped in front of him as he calmly announced “Harry, I believe I deep fried a gun.”
“....what?”
Dale trembled with his jaw set in that uncomfortable way he used to do in the hospital. Harry pulled him through the door and gently stripped him off, noting that the small cuts on his legs from moving through the woods without the proper attire.
He knelt by the edge of the tub as he washed the man down, gently rubbing soothing circles onto his chest as Dale stared silently at the wall.
They don't fuck that night. It was the first time Dale had come over without the prerequisite of sex. Even when they try to hang out as friends or colleagues, playing card games or working late on reports, they always end up fooling around somehow.
Harry sat against the headboard as Dale sat between his legs, draped in Harry’s robe, his back pressed against Harry’s front. The TV was quietly playing an animal documentary but neither of them were watching. Instead Harry was watching Dale's tired face in the mirror and Dale was watching the window like he usually did.
This was something different…
Harry was not sure what this is…
It's not fucking and it's beyond the realms of a normal friendship…or their unofficial friends with benefits agreement. Dale tenderly traced his own name on Harry’s thigh with his fingers and Harry pressed a feather light kiss behind his ear before the man fell asleep in his arms.
Holding the man right now, Harry is convinced that he himself must be the problem here. Harry must be doing something very wrong with all his relationships.
He can’t help but note the similarities between Dale and his relationship with Josie. The way she would run to his arms with tears in her eyes and mascara running down her face…but she would never actually voice what was troubling her.
Just like Dale was doing.
They both spoke in cryptic clues and riddles, dropping breadcrumbs and hints to a bigger picture they would not let Harry see. Using Harry for physical comfort while deeming him unfit to provide any mental relief.
And 7 years later, Josie's death was still the one grievance he could never let go of. The one death he could have prevented.
He was so deathly afraid Dale will share the same fate.
Harry wanted to shake the man by his shoulders. To tell him to stop shutting off, to let Harry properly into his life. To let Harry just…love him and take care of him properly.
Instead Harry swiped a tear from his own cheek and settled the man down to lie more comfortably, praying the dark circles under his eyes would be gone tomorrow.
-
The next morning Dale looked panicked as Harry stood ready to leave, already dressed in his work clothes. He began scrambling to get up but Harry just pulled his dressing robe tighter around the man and pushed him back to bed. Pressing a quick kiss to his forehead and leaving a coffee on the bedside table.
Dale’s eyes were glassy and there's a hesitant tremor in his lips. Dale was holding his hand tighter than he has ever held it, not bothering to hide the affection flittering across his face.
Looking down at Dale right there in his bed, in his robe, Harry knows.
Dale was in love with him too.
The man wanted to tell Harry– but whatever was stopping him was flaring up strong. The man doesn't say a word, instead he rolled to his side to face the window.
—
A few days later they almost had their first fight.
Harry had not seen the man all day when Dale bustled through the door with a large suitcase, announcing that he was leaving for Philadelphia.
“For work.” The man had said glumly, already folding up a plaid shirt–Harry's favourite shirt.
Harry didn't blurt out the fact that the FBI barely had anything for Dale to do anymore. But god does he want to.
He spent the next 2 hours just following the man in a daze. Panic slowly building up as Harry realised the man was packing more and more of his belongings and that this was unlikely to be a short trip.
When Dale neatly boxed up his personal recorded tapes, something finally snapped something in Harry. Months of gently handling the man and never pushing back have finally tipped over the resentment that had been building up.
“What the hell, Coop!?” Harry demanded. “Why?”
It was the first time ever he's pressed Dale for more than a surface level answer. The first time he has pushed on Dale’s bruised state of mind. But in this anxious state, he could not stop to choose his words carefully.
“Harry, this is FBI business. You know I cannot officially elaborate at this point in time, but I–”
“No.” Harry cut-in firmly. “No more cryptic bullshit Cooper. You can't just…just leave. Without telling me.”
“I am telling you Harry. It is why I am here. This is not a pre-planned excursion to hurt you, I promise you that. I was also not given any warnin–”
Harry doesn't buy it for a single second.
“When? When are you going?”
Dale faltered somewhat, dropping his head down. “Tomorrow. 10.40am. Gate 4.”
“Jesus...” Harry scrubbed a hand over his face to quell the queasiness that was beginning to build up. “Cooper, partners don't do this. You don't just pack up and swan across the country without notice.”
Dale quickly glanced at the window. “Now Harry, you know this isn't a usual arrangement–”
“How? How would I know that if you won't talk to me? How do I know anything that's going on in this damn…arrangement?” He snapped, feeling the same well of frustration he did when Josie shut him out.
Dale looked at him with hurt strewn across his features, his mouth open and his eyes wide and confused. Harry looked away quickly, setting his jaw, taking in a deep breath to trying to calm his nerves.
“Okay…okay…. What about our friendship, Cooper? Sex aside, are we not friends anymore? I would never pick up and leave without telling Hawk or Ed or Lucy or Andy–hell, I'd even call up Albert. Because that's what friends do. It’s not fair, it's not–”
“I know, I know….” Dale hurried over to him, quickly taking Harry's face between his hands and swiping at the tears he did not know were there. “I know…it's not fair, none of this has ever been fair. Especially to you. Above everything else, you are my very best friend, never ever forget that. I would like nothing more than to turn back time and stop you being involved in this.”
“In what? Coop, can you just…talk to me? Please…” Harry asked. “Cooper…I love–”
“Shh, shhh…” Dale shushed him with his fingers to his lips. “I know…. I know, I do. Please. If these feelings are true to you, you will let me leave without any trouble. There are just some things I can not speak into the air. Not at this point. Please.” He dropped his voice to a bare whisper. “Something…something is following. But I cannot speak of it, it is beyond my ability to communicate. Please, this is the only thing I will ever ask of you. No more questions about this. Please….”
His large hazel eyes are the most beautiful things Harry had ever seen, for the second time in his life–he is convinced he was looking at an angel.
Despite every ounce of himself wrestling against it, a quiet “Okay Coop…” slipped out of his mouth.
Relief quickly flooded Dale’s face and he practically threw himself into Harry's arms–surrounding Harry with the most gut-wrenching hug of his life.
So that was that. They kissed. They fucked. They slept. In the next morning Harry felt his heart torn apart in a way he did not know was possible.
They kissed goodbye at Harry's house, knowing there wouldn't be another time for them to do so at the airport. The kiss is without their usual fervour, it's gentle and sweet and so very apologetic. And when Dale’s plane finally took off, all of Harry's frustrated feelings immediately slipped into grief.