1989

As he watched Andy take Jones away, Harry tried to put together what had happened while he'd been drunk. His memories were vague, distorted. It reminded him of the strange separateness from the world that you get when you're swimming underwater. It all looks and sounds different. In this case, he'd been swimming in Jack Daniels. Something about that idea, being underwater, something about it nagged at him, but he couldn't quite place it. He thought about it as hard as he could. The broken furniture, a vague impression of drowning and a hoarse throat from shouting were his only clues. Alone now in the Bookhouse, he found a whiskey bottle that wasn't quite empty and poured himself a small glass. Then he picked up the phone and dialed.

Hawk picked up on the second ring. "Hello."

"It's me. Did I yell at you?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"Forgiven. You yelled at Agent Cooper and Andy, too."

"I'll apologize to them later. You coming over?" Harry's mouth was dry and he took another drink.

"No." Hawk paused. "Diane."

Harry had always appreciated the way Hawk could speak volumes with a single word. "Oh, right."

"But we can talk, if you're ready."

"Oh, I'm ready."

"Are you sure, Harry? You still sound a little drunk."

"Hair of the dog. There's one hell of a hangover in my future, but I want to do this first."

"All right."

1974

Two deputies sat at a table in the Bookhouse, a bottle of whiskey between them.

"Well, Hawk," Harry slurred drunkely, "do you understand them?"

"What?"

"Women. Do you understand women?"

"No."

"Neither do I. I have got to get laid or I'm going to go crazy. I've got to do something to get over her. Damn small-town life."

"Trying to understand women is like trying to understand the wind, Harry."

"I can't believe she did it." Harry poured himself another glass of whiskey and refilled Hawk's glass as well. "I haven't even told you the best part. I was going to ask her to marry me. Had the ring and everything. Ain't that a kick?" He laughed bitterly.

"I proposed to Angela."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Rejected."

"Oh, man, that's tough." He drained his glass. "You know what we need? We need to get laid." He refilled his glass and stared at it.

"You already said that."

"Oh, right. Well, if it'll make you feel any better, Trish didn't even give me a chance to propose. She left to take a new job in Salem yesterday. Didn't even tell me. All I got was a note."

Hawk stared quietly off into space for a moment. "Angela said she only dated me because she wanted to 'expand her cultural horizons.'"

"Trish said in her note that she cheated on me."

"Angela cheated. She left me for someone else."

"I think it was Hank that Trish slept with. Who'd Angie screw?"

"Lesbian."

"What?"

"Lesbian. They met last weekend. She's leaving town with her. Biker."

"Man, oh, man." Harry shook his head.

Hawk simply nodded.

Harry turned his glass. "You ever thought about that?"

"What?"

"Homosexuality." The word was spoken with the extreme care of the very drunk.

Hawk didn't respond.

"Women. If only I didn't want them so much. They feel so good."

Hawk nodded.

"I remember how Trish used to--" Harry stopped and shook his head. "You know, Hawk, we need to get our minds off of them. Trish and Angie. I'd say we should go pick up some women, but they'd only lie to us and hurt us anyway, and besides, we have the reputation of the Twin Peaks Sheriff's Department to uphold. I am running for office someday. Wouldn't do to have a reputation for having random casual sex with my constish- my conshi- ... with my voters. Women. Who needs them? We can get off by ourselves."

"True."

1989

"You're a good man, Harry. But your taste in women..."

"I know, I know. She had me hooked like a trout on a greenbutt skunk. You don't have to do this, you know, Hawk."

"I know. But we made a pact. You helped me get over Karen."

"And you helped me get over Dixie. And Leigh. And Rae. And I helped you with Martha."

"Maria. She was *from* Martha."

"Oh, I thought it was Martha and she was from George."

"We've been doing this for fifteen years, Harry. It always helps. I can't be there because I'm with Diane, but I can talk you through it."

"Okay. Let me lie down."

1974

If they'd been sober, it never would have happened.

They moved to the couch to get more comfortable. Then they started jerking off. Harry leaned his head back against the couch. "God, I just want to scrub her off my skin. It's like I can still feel her touch on me."

"I know. Maybe I can help," Hawk said, and reached for him.

They sobered up pretty quickly once things got started. After they'd both come, they sat side by side on the couch, sticky, sweaty, and silent.

"You feel better?" Harry asked, finally.

"Yes. You?"

Harry grinned. "It's weird, but yeah, I do feel a little better. That helped. Thanks." He paused. "So, uh, now what?"

Hawk stood and refastened his pants. "When another woman breaks your heart, you can call on me. I'll be there for you. Whatever you need."

Harry sat up straight and started to straighten out his clothes. "Thanks. Same goes for you. In fact, why don't you take this?" Harry reached into the pocket of his slacks and held out the box that contained Trish's ring. "So I won't have to look at it. Keep it somewhere, remember that I made a promise."

"A pact."

Harry nodded.

"Then you should keep this for me." Hawk reached under his collar and pulled out a cord with a ring on it. "I bought it for Angela. I kept it as a weight around my neck, to remind me. The greatest pain I have ever felt comes from the knowledge that I gave my heart to someone who never deserved it. Keep this as a reminder that you always have a friend." He untied it from around his neck and held it out.

Harry took the cord from Hawk's hand and tied it around his own throat. "So do you."

1989

Harry laid back on the bed, naked, and picked the phone back up from where he'd set it down.

"I'm ready."

"Tell me what you need to get through this, Harry."

"I don't know, Hawk. It's never been this bad. I really loved her. I just wish I could forget."

"I know."

"Did I say anything important, when I was drunk? There's something...I can't remember. Never mind. Just help me forget her for a while."

"Yes."

It was strange, holding the hard plastic of the phone against his ear. Normally, Hawk would be there, the warm touch of his hands firmly brushing away Harry's pain. They had done it this way once before, when Harry had been seeing someone and Hawk had been brokenhearted. It was a compromise, a way to stay faithful in body while still following through on the pact they'd made that night. Harry had pointed out that the mind is never entirely faithful anyway. He'd been the one doing all the talking that time, though. He wasn't sure how Hawk, man of few words, would manage this. He settled in and got comfortable, waiting.

The first words Hawk said shocked him to his core.

"Agent Cooper has a beautiful mouth, doesn't he, Harry?"

Harry gasped and felt himself flush, his cock instantly filling with blood. His hand moved to it and began to stroke as he let Hawk's words wrap around him. So dirty. So hot. Nothing like he would have expected. The images flooded Harry's senses.

"I bet you'd like to taste that mouth. I bet you'd like to have it on you, all over. I bet you'd like to have him put those beautiful lips on your cock and suck it in. His hot, wet mouth enveloping you. I bet he could take you all the way in. Man with a mouth like that must know how to use it."

"Hawk."

"Then, when you were almost ready to come, he'd stop."

Harry groaned.

"And you'd groan, just like that. He'd stop, and he'd smile, and you'd be begging to come. He'd kiss you and you'd taste your precome, bitter and salty, on his lips."

"Oh, God." Harry pumped his cock harder. His hand was slick with spit and sweat.

"Then he'd bend you over your desk and unbuckle his belt--did I mention that he'd still be dressed while you were completely naked? He'd take down his pants and press up behind you. You'd feel his shirttails against your ass and his hot, hard cock. You'd be face down on your desk, sweating, shaking, almost crying from wanting to come so badly. Then his heat would be gone and you'd whimper, wondering what was next."

A whimper escaped Harry's lips, and he rolled onto his side, bracing the phone against the pillow and sliding one hand around behind himself.

"You'd feel his hands on your legs, then on your ass, spreading you wider, and then his soft, wet tongue on you, on the silky skin right here. You like that idea, don't you, Harry? Your muscles twitched just thinking about it. That tongue would swirl around, then slip inside just a little. Then there'd be a finger there instead, wet with lube, and he'd stretch you, adding a second finger, and by then you would be sobbing, you'd be begging for more, begging him to just fuck you, insisting that you were ready and needed him now fast hard good please oh God please."

"Coop," Harry murmured.

"So he'd pull out his fingers and you'd whimper again and he'd line himself up behind you. The feeling of the head of his cock rubbing up against your skin as he found the entrance to your body by touch would almost make you shout. Then he'd push all the way in, hard and fast just like you've been begging for. You've been waiting so long that you come just from that, and you do cry out. He holds still for a moment while you buck against him, then he starts to move, slowly, so slowly, and you're still struggling to breathe as he finally begins to fuck you."

"Coop," Harry repeated, louder.

"It lasts so long that you feel like you've never known any other existence besides this--his cock in your ass, your hands gripping the edges of your desk, being fucked slowly, chanting his name over and over. Then, to your surprise, your body begins to respond again. He reaches around and strokes you hard and fast, in time with his thrusts, his balls slapping against you, and he's been in you so long now that you feel more open than you've ever been before."

Harry's hands moved faster, pushing, thrusting.

"Then he stops, and you feel him inside you, pulsing. He gasps, and it's the only sound he's made the whole time. He pulls back and slams in just one more time and you come, wondering if the explosions of light in your eyes will make you blind, wondering if you'll ever breathe normally again, wondering if the feeling of his cock in your ass will ever go away and hoping that it won't."

Climax hit Harry like a ton of bricks. "Dale!" he cried out, his body twitching as Hawk continued to speak.

"He leans forward and wraps his arms around you, prying your fingers off of the desk, and you wrap your arms over his. His tietack presses into your spine as he kisses the back of your neck. His cock, soft now, slips out of you. Then he's gone, and you hear him zip up. You still feel unable to move. He cleans you up gently, even wiping up the floor where your semen fell.

"Then he lifts you to your feet and takes you into his arms, your sweaty skin against the cloth of his suit, and you know that you are safe with him. If he's there when you go to sleep, he'll be there when you wake up. He will never disappear and he will never lie to you. That's what you deserve, Harry. She didn't deserve you. She didn't deserve your love. Agent Cooper is a good man, and I've seen how you look at each other. He wants you, too."

Harry felt tears running down his face.

"You said his name, Harry. You know I'm right."

"Sorry. I shouldn't have."

"It's all right. Sleep now."

"Thank you." Harry hung up the phone and let himself drift back into sleep.

xxx

When he awoke, he had the hangover of the century. He had been snapped suddenly and violently out of drunkenness the first time by the attempt on his life. This second time it was worse, and he almost wished Jones would come back and finish her job, put him out of his misery. The soft lamplight inside the Bookhouse was like blinding sun in his eyes. His head pounded, and he was in desperate need of a shower. He cleaned up, took some aspirin, and went to the station.

Josie's bonsai on his desk sent him spiralling into a memory. The last time they'd been together. Her open mouth, her lips on his, and it had felt wrong. It had felt wrong, but he had wanted so badly for it to be right again, and maybe it had never been right to begin with but he'd wanted to at least believe that it was, wanted it to be the way it used to be. And it wasn't. So he'd let go, let himself stop noticing the feeling. It was harder than it sounded, but once he had it had been like sliding into a lake in midsummer that's just the right temperature. Easy and smooth and comfortable. She'd used him, maybe that was all she'd ever done, and he'd let her. He fought his way back to the present, the here and now, hangover and all. He didn't particularly want to remember that. He could remember everything today, it seemed, except what he wanted to remember.

He was in the car with Coop on the way to the Double-R when it all came flooding back. As Coop had held him, speaking soft words of comfort to him, he'd stopped his drunken ravings and felt something new wash over him. Except it wasn't new at all. It had been growing, coming on for a while now. He had opened his mouth to speak, to ask, but found that the words wouldn't come out. Coop's smell--soap and Brylcreem and something else, Old Spice, maybe--had surrounded him. Harry could smell it again now, it permeated Coop's car. He felt safe.

He'd wanted to say it then. One word. One simple word that even then, drunk and desperate, had caught in his throat and hung there, trapping all the other words behind it, keeping the others out, until he felt like he was drowning in them, unable to breathe as the image took on life in his mind and he went under the surface once, filled with determination, purpose, a will to cough the word out no matter what the cost. A second time and panic gripped him, the sudden desperate knowledge that he couldn't, wouldn't, and then the third and final time, when he felt nothing but exhaustion. The release of giving up had been like the warm embrace of a lover and how was that for irony, all things considered, as he'd drifted down into comfort, away from the light that could burn as easily as it could heal. "Stay." Stay with me. Don't leave me. Hold me. And he hadn't said it.

His unspoken confession. He could feel it on his tongue again now, in the car. If he opened his mouth, would it fly out like the "bang" from a toy gun, a cloth flag, the letters written with the blood of his heart? He hadn't planned this, hadn't imagined it could happen. A few post-breakup rolls in the hay with a friend, that was one thing. Falling in love with a man was another. But it was true. And he owed Coop the truth. He had to say it, had to tell him. And maybe Hawk was right. He usually was. The words crowded his mind, and his heart was pounding as they sat down in the Double-R, as he tried to decide how to begin.

Then Annie Blackburn came to their table. Harry watched, and he saw, and he knew. She made Coop happy. When she was gone, he chose words out of the cloud of them still swirling in his head. The right words. He opened his mouth.