worktodo | 011 | Saffron City

011 | Saffron City | Action;

[So here's Albert.

Since coming to Johto, Albert's seen a lot of wacky shit go down. He's seen people mutating into some kind of hideous hybrid creature from an airborne mutant virus. He's seen ledges that defy the laws of physics. He's seen dragons and dinosaurs and aliens. He's seen people who claim beyond a shadow of a doubt to be actual ponies. He's been yelled at by a teenage Viking. He's been flown all over creation on a bird with clouds for wings and carried forcibly around by a giant green sparklegrizzly and endured patently stupid roadtrips that involved caves and forests and god only knows what else. He's been taunted by ghosts. He's been assaulted with puppies. He's fallen in a really big hole.

He's survived the freaking Armageddon and still didn't let it ruin Christmas.

And now, here on the third day of this latest bout of flagrant insanity, in his quiet home in Saffron City with a brand new swimming pool sparkling in the yard and a snarling levitating three-hundred-pound flesh-eating snowflake snapping at the end of its chain near the outhouse, he is stepping outside to collect himself with a cup of coffee and a moment's peace—

...

And there is a BIG DAMN TREE TRANSPLANTED RIGHT INTO THE MIDDLE OF HIS FORMERLY PRISTINE SIDEWALK, and WHEN THE HELL DID THAT GET THERE and WHO THE HELL EVEN RIPS UP A TREE AND—

...

...

Silently, Albert sips his coffee.

Just another day in Johto, apparently.]

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[That is a neat explanation. It's also one that sets Albert to wondering why Cooper knows it. Why some girl that nobody'd ever heard of before her miraculous return to Petticoat Junction? What's the connection to this? How'd she get tangled up with Cooper?

It's only because Albert's been doing this a long time, and because he knows Coop's track record, and because he knows how to put two and two together from the things that have been said — Cooper threw himself to the wolves for Annie Blackburn's sake, and Windom Earle is in play, and this is sounding entirely too much like a variation on a theme he's never wanted to hear again, a reprise of a cacophony he's long since grown to loathe.]

You love her?

[Maybe it's brutal, considering. Maybe he wants it to be a little brutal, just on the off-chance that he'll manage to see Cooper feel something again.]

Okay sure. It's a little on the hefty side.

[whisperwhisper.]

Can you uh- keep that a secret? Cookie is real sensitive about her weight.

_{[That's fair. You don't have to understand to believe things are true, even if just for a moment, and Laura knows this. In part she'd been asking about the rest of the force, what their explanation for something like BOB was, but ... maybe it doesn't matter what they said so long as they at least tried to understand the truth.]

[That's all she wanted, really. Truth.]

[And if this man and the one he's talking about are like this, then it seems like maybe that's what they got to in the end. It's comforting. It's terrible, too.]}

No one likes the answers.

Nobody likes cutting up dead kids to see what did them in, either. I do a lot of things I don't like. I found out a lot about you I didn't like.

[It still irritates him even now, the altercation in the morgue. Then, it had been for the more immediate, superficial reasons of having incompetent dunderheads trying to get in the way of his work. But the deeper-seated frustration stemmed from the knowledge he has now, that if they hadn't interfered when they did...]

I could've had him a lot sooner if your folksy friends down on the farm hadn't gotten in my way.

[He pauses, because he doesn't have to tell her what comes next; it won't matter to her in the long run, and it's arguably just as callous as detailing the way she died. But this time, he doesn't stop, because covering up the shame and injustice of something doesn't mean it goes away.]

Your cousin would probably still be alive if they'd have let me do my job. How's that for sentimentality.

_{[If he wants a reaction, he gets one, but it's probably a rather disappointing one all in all. There's a smile but it's hollow: a ghost of his usual sunny one. He's remembering a deceased. He remembers beating her down. The memories are all his despite the fact that he did nothing.]

[And yet, she's right there with him at times, amid the drapes. He supposes he does love her sometimes just for that even if it's tainted by the strangled words between them and the occasional white of her eyes.]}

I feared for her, Albert. Fear opens the door.

_{[It wasn't about love even in the reality where he never met one Carmen Sandiego. It was always about his fear that someone would once again die because of him. That's why he had to follow, first of all. If he had followed simply because of love he would have found himself someplace else.]}

Windom.

[Leave it to Windom Earle to do it. Love was a foreign thing to the guy — maybe not always, but certainly so after he'd gone crackers — but fear? Fear he excelled at. Especially when it came to instilling it in one Dale Cooper.

So Windom played with fire and Cooper got burned. Why is he entirely unsurprised by that.]

I'll stop you, Coop.

[He should've said he'd stop Windom, maybe, but there's a finality to the story Cooper's been telling that makes him think the chances of that are slim — and besides, it ends with Windom Earle sleeping in the bed he made for himself, anyway. So be it.]

_{[It's maybe a bit weird, but Laura appreciates that he's not trying to make his words pretty for her. People tend to either do exactly that or say things as crass and dirty as they can, but they rarely just give it to her straight like this. She likes that, even if it might have made her angry if it had been any other circumstance, because it's the way she prefers to talk to people - it's just that she never CAN.]

[But anything she might have said in response to those first few things is cut short when he brings up Maddy, and Laura's mind stops short for a moment. That ... no. Oh, god, why.]}

Maddy's dead?

_{[Maddy, who she didn't love because she didn't love anyone, but who she had loved once and who was almost like a big sister to her, who she hadn't seen for years but had said that she could call her anytime, and once or twice she had.]}

He killed Maddy?

[He should've pulled that one. If he were going to tell her, he should've led into it a little better, made it a little softer. And yet even as he stands there solemnly, watching her react to it, he doesn't regret it, precisely. She should be horrified. Not because she deserves to be punished with the knowledge that there's another body added to the count, but because dammit, these kids, they're dying and for what, for what, and somebody ought to be horrified but that's not Albert's job. Albert's job is to get the answers, catch the murderers. He can't weep for any of these kids because if started with even just one he'd never stop.

But it does make him angry, and it's going to bother him for a long time. He's going to carry the memories of Laura Palmer and Maddy Ferguson with a particular weight to them, the same one that some other victims have piled on before them (whose names and faces he remembers, when they'd had names and faces remaining to attach) — because if not for that incident, Ben Horne and Doc Hayward and Harry's fists and Cooper's deadly calm, if not for that he would've caught it. He could've had the killer sooner.

It means he didn't do the job the best he could've, and that leaves him feeling like he's failed them, these girls, these kids, because they got justice but it was a hollow sham of what it could've been.]

Yeah. She came to town to visit. Helping out your folks, I think it was.

[His voice turns a little softer.]

The two of you could've been twins.

Thank you, Albert.

_{[He's solemn. He's appreciative. He's deadly serious and beyond sad but he's thankful to Albert for shouldering this thing, too, and he's glad he's gotten to tell someone. He needed to. He's had no real human contact for what feels like years. Just imitations, images in his mind ... and he touches Albert's shoulder in an expression of all those things, watching him still, always steady, always gone.]

[He knows that Albert will do everything in his power to help him, too. It's something he needs to do and Cooper is going to watch him do it from the sidelines in the Lodge, hoping he will succeed but knowing he will probably fail.]

[That's another thing he's resigned to.]

[But so long as Albert knows when to stop trying - and he will - then things might just work out if not for the best, at least as good as they can given the circumstances.]}

[Speaking of shouldering.

The touch doesn't last long, but that's only because with the sound of the words, "Thank you, Albert," that means business has concluded, the plan is set, and now Albert can finally set aside the work still left to do in favor of grabbing hold of his friend and pulling him in for a protective hug, holding him tight and cradling his head against his shoulder with one hand cupped gently against the back of his hair and not even giving a damn about the gel for once.]

You hold on, you understand me? Don't you ever quit. You hold on.

[He can't be there to hold Coop up this time. He can't give him a shoulder this time. The only thing he can give him is words and memories, and that means they've got to be enough.]

We would pretend, sometimes.

_{[She says this quietly because the memory is immediately tainted with the knowledge that Maddy's gone and because if BOB killed her then Laura figures it has to be for that very reason, because they look so much alike. But unlike someone else Albert knows she's not going to blame herself for such a thing - it just makes her feel even more sick when she thinks about BOB. It's a mix of coiling hatred, shame and fear. Amplified because of Maddy and Ronette.]

[She wishes so much nothing of this had ever happened to her. She won't take the blame, none of BOB's crap is her fault (even if a lot of other things are), but she understands that she's still the center. And she hates it. She hates it so much.]

[Some of that is bound to be showing in her face, the fist she's making against her thigh.]}

Come sit on the porch steps.

[It's a repeat of the question before, but this time it's an imperative. A little gentle direction might settle her down, draw her back; in Coop's worst moments, he'd done the same thing. Simple, easy, uncomplicated instructions. Drink this coffee. Go take a nap, you'll feel better. Sit here, eat this. No need to think; just to function.

Maybe this is a good warm-up, since sooner or later she's going to have to hear it about her father.]

You've got questions you want to ask me, don't you?

_{[It's not surprising, what Albert does, and Cooper finds himself in the hug willingly and hugs Albert back because they both need it. They do. It won't be easy to go back but Coop is sure it will be even harder to remain, with the knowledge and no means to do anything, to wait and wait and hope, to walk in circles in your own mind and try to come up with something, anything - and pray that you will even remember it when (if?) you do come back home.]

[There are so many things that might not work, that won't check out. But Cooper feels better for having told and for getting to see Albert again and for this very clear comfort, this contact, and for once he's selfish enough to just draw from it.]

[So he hugs back and watches the oh-so-familiar back yard because if he closes his eyes he might be elsewhere and he misses this, he misses this so much, but his soul is too old to let him cry for having lost it.]}

I'll try, Albert, I promise you.

_{[The real answer is: I don't think I have a choice. It's only hell because it's limbo. But he's taking care to not lose himself. He's making sure to watch everything that happens to him outside. It hurts, but it's his reality, and he's holding onto it. He is. He will. He can do that.]

[He was weak enough to break beneath the Lodge but once in it he knows he's strong enough to remain without crumbling.]}

[Lucky for them both, Albert's got nowhere to be and plenty of strength left. Coop fits where he ought to against Albert's shoulder and one of these days, hours, minutes, he's going to slip like sand through his fingers (here and there both), but for now he's solid and here and Albert's not going anywhere, even if Cooper is. He can stand here a long time. He can stand here forever if he's got to.]

Hey.

[Pay attention, buttercup. He's only going to get one shot at this, so it's got to be enough.]

I love you, Dale Cooper.

[And here, there, no matter where, you better not forget it.]

_{[She still stands but it's not because she's stubborn. The way she lowers her head just slightly means yes, but also that he'll have to do it first, to show her so she can follow. She doesn't really want to move onto his side of the playing field without him showing her there's no danger in doing so.]}

Yes. _{[She is drawn back by that question, if she wasn't by the request, the suggestion before it. It's a surprisingly easy thing to admit, the next thing she says, probably because she knows distantly that this isn't real enough to stay with her when she disappears. There's no need to waste time. That, and he speaks without masks, so then she can too.]} But I'm scared to ask.

[Yeah. Okay, he can do that. He'd kind of had it in his head to, anyway, and when she doesn't immediately move that just cements his resolve to leave his coffee cup on the railing and take up a seat on the steps, hands resting lightly on one drawn-up knee and the other outstretched, relaxed, making contact a few steps lower.]

I don't blame you.

[He offers her a look that, if it'd been in his shoulders instead of his eyes, would've been a shrug.]

But are you ever going to get the chance to again?

I know.

_{[What he thinks is, You would have made it.]

[He doesn't say that. He hugs back. He knows. He never doubted.]

[There's something almost symbolic about the fact that Albert chooses to use his full name, moreso than Albert himself might realize. In the lodge, he's either Dale or Agent Cooper or he has no name at all. Elsewhere, he's Coop, both in Johto and Kanto and Earth. But right now it's all of him, and it's fitting because it finally truly is. He's whole. He's gone. He's at the end of his line and he's where he was always supposed to be.]

[Dale Cooper.]

[He might have forgotten.]

[Albert is good like that.]}

I love you, too.

_{[She hovers for a while before she sits and she picks a spot lower than him, careful not to touch him, careful to be able to watch him. It probably speaks about the abuse she's known, about the people she surrounded herself with.]

[Mixed in with that is naturally the topic at hand. But he's right, and she already knows she's going to ask about everything. She just needed that moment to admit to herself (and someone else, maybe that was just as important) how daunting it is.]

[She's still thinking about Maddy, but the question could mean either of them, when she does ask it after a moment of silence.]}

How did it happen?

Get a hairdryer and melt it!

[Blake edges closer, making sure he's out of range of the chain, and quickly snatches up his poor, abused gun.]

[It's...sticky.]

[Blake dangles it from his fingers as his lip twists in disgust]

Fucking snowflake spit.

I have a feeling Cookie's already figured that out for herself.

[ANDYYYYYYYY.]

And she's not going in the pool.

A homicide's a homicide.

[And that's sounding pretty violent, Blake, which is why Albert is going to turn his eyes back to the snowflake at the end of the suddenly lax, silent chain and—

Wait.

Suddenly lax, silent chain?

...And for that matter, where'd the snowflake go.

No really it was right there a minute ago where is the snowflake.]

Oh, hell.

[She's like a squirrel, or a chipmunk, or some other little fuzzy woodland creature. Cute, skittish. Brave enough to put its flight instinct away to come over and snatch scraps if it thinks you've got something it wants. And you don't want to let it bite you, 'cause it's probably rabid.

Sounds about right.]

You were found wrapped in plastic on the shore of a lake by a guy named Pete Martell. Maddy was found on a golf course — same M.O., wrapped in plastic. It's not the first time our office has chased a signature like that. We've seen other girls wrapped in plastic before, too.

Neither one of you died where you were ultimately found; you were both moved. You'd been tied up; she hadn't. Your killer probably had more time with you than he did with her, both in planning the murder and in — pun intended — executing it. From what you've told me here, my conclusion would follow — you knew your death was coming. She didn't.

You both died of blunt force trauma. For her, it went fast. He cracked her head open right here. [He taps his face, between the eyebrows and above his nose.] For you, it didn't go so fast. You suffered multiple wounds, and no single one of them was enough to do you in. Assuming the guy knew what he was doing, and given who we're talking about I expect that he did, that all suggests to me that Maddy's was an impulse killing, targeted toward the goal of seeing her dead as the desired endgame. You were someone he wanted to see suffer, so he made sure to make it last.

That'd be monstercide, and that's covered under self defense! [Or it should be!]

[He doesn't need to yell as loud, since it got quieter.]

[How did it get quieter?]

[Blake turns slowly back toward where the monster was.]

Oh. Hell.

[That sure is a whole lot of nothing right there on the end of that chain.

Where a killer snowflake should be.]

...Hightail it for the house or the roof, whatever's closer and less likely to get us all killed trying to get there.

[Blake doesn't need to be told twice.]

[This is the fastest he's moved in years. Maneating snowmonsters are a great motivator.]

Roof! No hands, thing can't climb!

[he spares the time to throw a glance at Albert]

Can it?

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011 | Saffron City | Action;

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