Continued from here. The transformation taking place in front of his eyes lasts less than a couple of seconds. One moment, Gordon is looking almost fragile, the next, his expression has shut down and he’s gripping the edge of the table with steel in his gaze.
Albert flinches automatically, his fork clanging against the plate. Feels the nervous tension in his gut solidify as Gordon starts to speak. His one, admittedly feeble hope - that Gordon would come back on his threat from last night, would acknowledge Albert’s pain and admit he’d gone too far - shattered against the raw edge of the man’s anger. A united front. It would be hysterical if it wasn’t so damn pathetic, and the thought that Gordon is looking at him to resolve this, is expecting some kind of capitulation or confession or whatever else it will take to placate him now, is enough to make the last remaining shred of his composure fall away.
At some level, he’s aware of Gordon’s eyes on him, but he’s no longer even sure if Gordon is still talking through the persistent ringing in his ears. He blinks down at his barely touched breakfast plate, bile flooding his throat at the sight, and for a moment, he’s horrifyingly certain he’s about to lose what little he put in his stomach just now.
He gets up, slamming his knee against the table, swallowing a curse as he backs away. Wonders if Gordon can see the despair in his face. “Tell Tammy -” He shudders. “Tell her whatever. Tell her I overslept. I - can’t - do this right now.” Blindly, he turns his back on Gordon, realizing he has no idea where to go. Back to his own room would take too long. Bathroom? Too cramped. Street? No privacy. Hotel courtyard then, if he can remember how to get there - but everything feels strangely muted, and his breathing’s all wrong, and… There. Set of double doors at the back of the breakfast room, down a long corridor, through another door, and he’s outside, bursting out into the daylight. There’s a bench a couple of yards away, and he stumbles towards it like a drunkard, hoping to God there’s no one else here to see.
His gut twists and he sits down, head between his knees, but nothing happens except for a weak, strangled heave. His chest hurts and he can’t get enough air, but he presses his palm against his ribcage, trying to focus on breathing. Knowing, at some level, that what he feels is irrational, but still struggling to get his body to take that cue. He couldn’t name the last time he had a panic attack in his life - only that he had them in the months after they lost Cooper - but it’s just as ugly and shameful as he remembers it to be.
God, Cooper… His Cooper, the Cooper he knew, still lost in who knows what nightmare, and who can say if they’re any closer to finding him than they were twenty-five years ago. Only now Albert has hope again - flimsy, feeble and probably false as it is - and it’s killing him breath by painful breath.
This time, he’s not even surprised when the waterworks start. He still fights it, more out of reflex than anything else, elbows on his knees and a fist pressed against his mouth while he tries to keep his shoulders from shaking. Not that it matters. He’s alone, anyway - just like he’s been from the start. @paydlrt