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The soft glowing numbers of the dashboard inform Sheriff Harry S. Truman that it has indeed been a long investigative day: 11:55 pm. He’s behind the wheel of the Twin Peaks Sheriff’s Department police cruiser, and beside him in the passenger seat is Special Agent Dale Cooper. Cooper sits there like he’s always belonged in that spot, as if he and Sheriff Truman have been working on cases together for years and not simply a matter of weeks.
Except, uncharacteristically, Cooper is dead quiet; maybe it’s just the late hour, or maybe it’s too dark for Cooper to take in the scenery and then bombard Harry with dozens of questions. Harry takes his eyes off the road for a split second to glance over at Cooper, and notes with surprise that Cooper appears to be asleep. His eyes are shut as he leans back against the window, and his jaw is slack. And, if Harry’s not mistaken, Cooper is softly snoring.
Harry tries to stifle his surprise at the sight of Cooper and thinks, he needs to look at the road and not at how Cooper’s head keeps bumping on the passenger side window, but it’s not hard enough to wake him up. Harry thinks, this isn’t so surprising; Coop probably didn’t have his eighth or ninth cup of coffee today which would have enabled him to stay awake. A second later, he realizes that it was only a day or two ago that Cooper was shot. No wonder Coop couldn’t stay awake, Harry thinks, his body needs the rest so it can repair itself.
Harry makes a conscious effort to drive more carefully and avoid the bad spots in the road so Cooper can continue to sleep. Seven minutes later, he’s pulled up in front of the Twin Peaks Sheriff’s Department and he expects that stopping the vehicle will wake Cooper up. But Cooper’s eyes remain shut, and his jaw remains slack, and Harry’s not sure if he wants to wake Cooper up quite yet. Maybe he should just start the engine back up and drive Coop straight to the Great Northern Hotel, and wake him up then. Harry doesn’t feel great about allowing Cooper to drive on dark country roads when he’s clearly so tired. For a moment Harry stares ahead and thinks about taking Cooper up to room 315, letting Coop lean on him with an arm draped over his shoulders. It’s hardly the embrace that Harry wants, but it’s at least an excuse to have his body pressed up against Cooper’s. Fat chance. Coop would just thank Harry for the ride and express concern that someone will need to pick him up in the morning since his own car is still parked at the Sheriff’s Department.
He doesn’t know what to do, so Harry just stays parked and watches Cooper as he sleeps, his long eyelashes fluttering slightly. Coop’s so handsome, even as he sleeps, and Harry’s breath catches in his throat as that thought passes through his head. One’s not supposed to think of a colleague as particularly attractive, let alone a fellow man. Harry shakes his head slightly, and thinks that he can notice and appreciate anyone’s aesthetic appeal, and Cooper has that in spades.
Harry knows he should start the cruiser back up, but try as he might, he can’t totally suppress the desire to be close to Cooper right now. He really shouldn’t want this, but his palms itch with the temptation to caress Cooper’s face. He can feel his ears turn red as he imagines running his fingers through Cooper’s immaculately styled, jet black hair. But he can’t touch; Coop would wake up and realize with disgust that Sheriff Truman was touching his face. Harry knows that Cooper often places a hand on his arm or shoulder, and is usually standing so close that he brushes up lightly against Harry—but that’s just what Coop does, it doesn’t mean anything special.
But there’s no one out in the parking lot and it’s dark, and Harry glances up to see that most of the lights in the building have been turned off. No one will see and no one will know, except for Harry and maybe God, though Harry doesn’t believe that God exists. It will just be for a moment, and already Harry can feel the guilt that comes with knowing he’ll have trespassed upon Cooper’s boundaries. His mouth goes dry as he unbuckles his seatbelt, and the noise feels impossibly loud. Surely it woke Coop up. But Cooper keeps sleeping, his mouth open slightly as he softly snores.
At first Harry just leans in closer, curious what Cooper smells like. Should Cooper stir now, Harry could simply say that he was reaching over to wake him up. Coop smells exactly how he imagined an FBI agent would: the first word that comes to Harry’s mind is expensive, but he realizes the word he’s actually looking for is sophisticated. He’s not sure exactly what Cooper smells like; he’s never been particularly talented at pinpointing fragrances. Harry decides that Coop smells almost woodsy, which seems fitting for a man who looks at douglas firs with stars in his eyes. Harry takes a deep breath and tries to commit this to memory, since he knows he’ll never get another chance like this.
Cooper remains asleep, and the parking lot remains empty. The only sounds are Cooper’s breathing and Harry’s heart hammering in his chest. Harry’s palms are on fire as he reaches out, trembling, to gently touch Cooper’s face. Harry expects this to wake up his friend, but nothing happens. Cooper doesn’t stir a bit. Harry can feel the shame boiling up in him—he’s not supposed to want this; he doesn’t understand why he’s so compelled to be close to Cooper.
Coop’s skin is soft and smooth under Harry’s fingertips, he thinks as he runs his thumb over the dimple on Cooper’s chin. Even though this moment is so wrong, there’s something that feels incredibly right to Harry. It’s almost as if the contours of Coop’s face were meant to align with Harry’s outstretched hand. He softly runs his fingers along Cooper’s jaw line.
Harry’s face burns with equal parts desire and shame as he caresses the side of Cooper’s face. He brushes a thumb under Cooper’s eyes, and tells himself he can’t think about how Coop’s eyes change color depending on the light—sometimes they’re more brown, sometimes more green, but either way they’re captivating. Cooper’s eyes have an intensity to them that immediately drew Harry in, and Harry stuffs those thoughts down.
Part of Harry wants to never forget this moment, but most of him knows he’ll need to drink half a bottle of whiskey tonight to do just that. He shouldn’t want any of this. He shouldn’t want to watch Coop sleep, or to hold him close. He won’t let his thoughts go there. Harry’s fingers stop just short of Cooper’s hairline; Harry bites his lip. He desperately wants to know what Cooper’s hair looks like without product in, but he can’t let Coop know what he was up to. And he would surely know if he woke up in the car with his hair disheveled.
Harry marvels at the fact that Cooper’s not woken up.
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At first Cooper thinks he’s dreaming as he feels Sheriff Truman’s hand cupping his chin. He’s thought about Harry frequently since his arrival in Twin Peaks and despite his strongest efforts to remain at arm’s length from Harry, the man has a firm, grounding presence whenever Cooper’s intellect is inclined to eccentricity. More than that, there’s the willingness to trust Cooper at every step. Cooper finds it alluring, as he’s mused on this repeatedly to Diane. Cooper should know better to let his FBI life and his personal life bleed into one another. He thinks he’s falling for Sheriff Harry Truman.
Cooper’s dreamt about being held by Harry, their foreheads pressed together and sharing each other’s breath. He’s thought about how much he would like to press his lips to Harry’s and run his fingers through those soft curls. But he’s also aware that Harry has Josie, and most men are disinclined to pursue a relationship with another man. So Cooper’s relegated all those thoughts to the back space of his mind though they routinely rush to the forefront whenever Harry smiles back at Cooper. At least, that’s what he planned to do until he woke up to Harry’s thumb gently rubbing the dimple in Cooper’s chin.
If Harry notices that Cooper’s awake, he’d withdraw his hand instantly and swear under his breath; Cooper’s not ready for this dream to end. The natural conclusion, then, is that Cooper must pretend to remain asleep. Cooper needs to catalogue every sensation very carefully and store it all, because he strongly doubts that the object of his affections will ever do this again. Harry’s hands are calloused and workmanlike, and he touches so gently. Cooper could melt down to nothing with the fulfillment of this fantasy as Harry runs a thumb along the underside of Cooper’s orbit, the way Cooper imagines Harry would brush a stray tear away.
Now Harry’s running the back of his fingers along Cooper’s jawline and Cooper has to suppress the urge to shiver even as every nerve feels wildly overstimulated. He cannot let this dream end quite yet. He imagines that Harry wants to feel the contours of his face, to know what his dimples and cheekbones and temples feel like; Cooper wants to impart that knowledge to Harry. Cooper wants to say that Harry has his permission to spend hours exploring every inch of his body—save for where he was shot. His stomach is quite tender and should be left alone, for obvious reasons. Cooper knows better than to speak his desires. Harry will loathe himself for this transgression, Cooper can sense it already, and better that he keep his eyes closed and his jaw slack for Harry’s sake, so that Harry has a chance to forget it all.
Cooper can feel Harry’s fingertips brush up against his hairline and already knows what Harry’s thinking. Harry can’t leave evidence of the boundary he feels he’s crossed, and he can’t let Cooper know. Cooper’s scalp tingles with the thought of Harry’s fingers in his hair and he wishes more than anything at the present moment that he could tell Harry it’s safe. The dream ends; Cooper hears the sound of a car pulling up; Harry pulls his hand away quickly and lets out a breath he probably was not aware he was holding. Seconds pass before he hears the car window being rolled down.
“Hey, Hawk. I think I’m just going to take Cooper back to the Great Northern. He’s been out cold this whole time,” Harry explains.
“Unsurprising. Doc Hayward didn’t want Cooper moving about at all,” Hawk agrees. “The body needed the mind to slow down.”
“I’ll pick him up from the hotel tomorrow morning,” Harry continues. “I just don’t feel good about letting him drive back to the Great Northern when he’s this tired. Not on these roads, when it’s dark out like this.”
Cooper’s heart pangs at this; he feels especially honored to be worthy of Harry’s concern.
“Sounds good, Harry. I’ll see you in the morning.” From his voice, Cooper isn’t sure if Hawk knows what happened. He almost hopes for Harry’s sake that Hawk doesn’t.
Harry starts the cruiser up again and Cooper hears him fasten his seatbelt. Cooper wishes he could break the awful silence and tell him that it’s alright, that Cooper is falling head over heels for him, that he doesn’t need to feel the shame and embarrassment. It will just have to remain a secret, then, Cooper thinks with an internal sigh. A secret Harry Truman doesn’t think Cooper is keeping.
Twelve agonizing minutes of silence later, Harry brings the cruiser to a stop in front of the doors of the Great Northern and places a gentle hand on Cooper’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Coop, but you gotta wake up now,” Harry says softly.
Cooper blinks and allows his eyes to focus on Harry’s face, which still looks a little flushed. “Thank you, Harry,” Cooper says, pretending to stifle a yawn even though he couldn’t be more awake.
Harry stares down at his boots. “Uh, yeah. No problem. I’ll be here to pick you up at 7:30 tomorrow morning.”
Cooper acknowledges this with a “good night”, gathers up his duster jacket in his arms, and exits the vehicle. He notes that Harry waits for Cooper to get inside the hotel before he finally drives off, as if between the car and the door Cooper could disappear. Cooper feels distant and strange as he acknowledges the lady at the front desk and makes his way up to room 315. Cooper’s not sure if he’s protecting Harry or harming him with his silence. This is why he shouldn’t allow his professional and personal lives to blend together, but then again, maybe he’s the type who simply loves who he loves.
Cooper enters his room and changes into his navy blue pajamas. For a split second he holds his tape recorder up to his lips, but knows that he cannot talk about anything that transpired. Instead, he gingerly lies down, taking care to not jostle his healing stomach, and stares at the ceiling.