Fic: Markov Chain by Titti

Title: Markov Chain
Author: Titti
Webpage: http://www.tittisrealm.com/fantasy/
Pairing: Don/Cooper
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended
Summary: Random events lead to one unexpected outcome.
Written for the Numb3rs ficathon at http://www.livejournal.com/users/spikedluv/142031.html#cutid1

Markov Chain

A collection of random variables having the property that, given the present, the future is conditionally independent of the past.

*******

Alan was no mathematician. He didn't know about Markov Chain, probabilities, and conditionally independent events, but he was a father, and he knew trouble when he saw it. The latest round of trouble came in the form of one Bill Cooper, FBI agent, fugitive recovery unit, Don's former partner.

The man carried many labels, but to Alan, he was the man that had isolated Don from his family. Maybe he was being unfair. He intellectually understood that the job required the agents to be away from their family for long stretches of time, but Alan always wondered if Don's distance, back then, had a lot to do with Cooper as well. He didn't know for certain, but he didn't want to find out. He certainly didn't want Bill Cooper back in LA, but he didn't get his wish.

*******

1. The Arrival

Bill Cooper arrived in the middle of the summer, a duffle bag in one hand, a bandage on the opposite shoulder, and a smile on his face. He reached the neon lit office, and dumped his bag near a desk, before leaning against it. "Hey, partner."

Don turned around surprised. "Hey, Coop." He walked over, and cautiously hugged his friend. "I heard what happened."

"Yeah, son of a bitch won't be seeing the light of day until he dies."

"I'm surprised he's still alive," Don said in a whisper.

"I thought about planting a bullet between his eyes, but there were too many people around." Coop sighed. "And as thanks for getting hit on the job, the bureau put me on medical leave. I'm telling you, I'm going out of my fucking mind, doing nothing all day. So, are you going to entertain me?"

Don grinned. "I'm sure we can find something to do."


2. The Convergence

"Welcome chez Epps," Don said as he let Coop into his apartment. "Not the Ritz, but you're welcome to stay as long as you want."

Coop snickered. "Are you kidding me? Considering the dumps where I spend my nights, this *is* the Ritz. Gotta a beer?"

Don smiled. Not too long ago, he was spending his nights in the same dumps, so he understood. "Get yourself comfortable, and I'll get you one."

One beer turned into two, then three, as they sat in front of a TV that no one was watching. Coop sat on the couch, a foot on the coffee table in front of him. He rested the bottle on his knees, and stared at Don without saying a word.

"What?"

Coop sighed. "I could have been killed, man. I was slow, and that fucktard could have killed me. You know what's worse? It was my damn fault. I should know better than to lower my guard."

"C'mon, the scumbag shoots you, and you think it's your fault?" Don leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked straight in Coop's eyes as he spoke, "I've known you for a long time. I've worked with you. You're one of the best agents I know, and I don't believe for a second that it could have been avoided."

Coop laid the beer on the table and got up, pacing like a caged animal. He finally stopped in front of the window, looking at the city lights, but not really seeing them. "You're wrong. I... I don't know what was about this guy, Don. He had family, friends, a wife, and children. I sat in my car for weeks staking out their homes, and the only thing I could focus on was the fact that the son of a bitch had more than I did. I haven't spoken to my family in ... God, months. I haven't seen them in over a year. Last time I had a relationship, I was at the academy. I mean we're talking over a decade ago. This piece of shit had it all and threw it away for money."

Coop felt the warmth before he heard any movement, and by then Don was right there, their bodies almost touching. Don's hand rested on his shoulder, giving him a comfort that he could never ask for.

"Maybe it's time to stop, transfer to a different unit. It's not as bad as you think, Coop."

"Isn't it?" Coop turned until they were face to face, and the closeness would have been strange with another man, but this was Don, his partner - or former partner. They had shared too many secrets in dark nights to move away now. "You've worked in different places, Don. Fugitive recovery was only part of your career, but that's all I've done since joining the bureau. I don't know if I can wear the suit, and sit behind a desk, waiting for something to happen." He squeezed Don's arm. "At least, one of us is living a normal life. So, tell me about the hot babes you're seeing."

Don chuckled. "You'll be disappointed. I haven't been with anyone since Kim."

"Yeah, I heard you were engaged. What the fuck happened, man? You were crazy about her."

Don shrugged, and went back to his armchair. "My mom got sick. I needed to stay here. We postponed the wedding once, and then it became obvious that I wasn't going back. When I asked the transfer, she broke it off. It's probably better this way. My dad needed me when my mom died, and Charlie..."

"Can outsmart either of us."

"Yeah, but there is smart and then there is smart. You know that. Charlie is a genius, but he doesn't understand life sometimes. I'm his big brother."

"And since then?" Coop asked as he sat on the coffee table in front of Don.

"No one, there was this thing with... with Terry. She and I, we were at the academy together, but then we got different assignments. We met again here, but we were working together, and..." Don shook his head. "You know what? My job isn't any better for relationships. Long hours, your lovers don't understand why you cancel plans every other day."

"That's why you're supposed to fuck other agents," Coop said with a grin.

"Right, like you ever thought about fucking any of the people you worked with." Don smiled back. "You forget that I know you too well, and you would never get involved with your partner. You wouldn't be able to ditch her in the morning."

Coop laughed. "There is that." He nodded slowly. "You're right; I generally wouldn't consider it, but once..."

Don's forehead wrinkled as he thought back. "Who's she? You never mentioned anyone."

"Not a she," Coop said, his voice almost inaudible in the room.

"Bill 'I'll bang any woman' Cooper is gay." Don rolled his eyes, before leaning closer. "You are full of shit, buddy."

"I'm not gay, but there was one guy... I don't know, I thought there could be more between us, but-" Coop stood up abruptly. Too much soul baring was for pussies, especially when any revelation would end up with a broken friendship and possibly broken noses. "Anyways, it's in the past and it's also late; you got work tomorrow. Point me to a pillow and sheets, and I can crash here."

Don stood up, and nodded toward his bedroom. "We've shared smaller spaces before. You can sleep in my bed if you promise not to snore."

Coop rested a hand on Don's shoulder, and leaned in until his lips were to Don's ear. He was glad to see that Don didn't move away. "You're the one that snores, man."

"And you're a chronic liar."

"Keep deluding yourself." Coop moved around Don, and dashed for the bathroom. "I get dibs."

"Just like old times," Don mumbled, but headed for the bedroom with a smile on his face. Sharing an apartment with someone wasn't as hard as people thought, at least not when the other person was your partner.


3. Parallels

Coop sat behind a desk, playing solitaire on the computer. Don had been called by the A.D. not too long ago, and the office was in a buzz. Coop understood that energy, when your entire body got ready for action. Every muscle clenched in preparation; your mind sped up, considering all that had or that could happen. Your heart responded in kind, beating faster, pumping that oxygen that would be needed. The problem was not to peak before you needed to act, to conserve your energy until it was needed. Coop could peak any moment because he wasn't going anywhere.

He sighed, and turned another card, when he saw Don walk to the conference room, motioning people to follow. Coop went into the room, standing on the far side, leaning against the wall, waiting to find out what had pissed off Don so much.

"Ladies, and gentlemen, we got a dead banker. John Phillips was married, two children, worked for Chase Bank. He was found dead three days ago behind a gay bar," Don started.

"Why are we involved?" a man asked.

"The detective in charge remembered a similar case and did some research. What he found is a string of homicides - four in New York, five in Ft. Lauderdale and Miami, two in Vegas, three in San Francisco, and one here. The victims are all black men, married with children, all respectable, and they all visited gay clubs."

David looked at the file in front of him. "A serial killer who targets men on the down low? That sounds..."

"Appropriate for the time," Don answered. "We're getting a profiler. In the meantime, we'll split up the murders, cross-reference them, and hopefully we get an idea of who this bastard is."

The buzz was alive again, each agent preparing to do his or her part to catch the perp. Coop went back to the desk. He could do nothing but watch the others, and offer any assistance that Don might need.

Through the days, Coop watched as the initial energy faded leaving behind frustration and a sense of urgency. He looked on as the profiler, Dr. Jennifer McManus, and Charlie bickered. Oh, they did it civilly, never raising their voices, but it was clear even from afar: the clipped words, the clenched fists, and the rigid bodies. Don was always there, mediating, and Coop decided that fugitive recovery was a lot less stressful than Don's job, because if he were in Don's position, he'd have shot them both.

He watched, never interfering until the late night when he saw Don press his nails in his fist, and saw how Don was ready to snap. He obviously knew the signs better than David or Charlie, because they kept asking questions, and Coop knew that it was a matter of time before Don said or did something he'd regret.

Coop made his way between David and Charlie, and put a hand around Don's shoulder. "You need sleep."

"I need to find this bastard," Don snapped back, raising his voice for the first time in days.

The room fell silent, but Cooper wasn't fazed. It was better if Don yelled at him than at someone else. "You need to be awake to catch him. These people can survive without you for a few hours. C'mon, let's go home."

"Okay, fine, but I need to be back in a few hours."

Coop rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't dream of keeping you away from your job."

"Good," Don said curtly, but he smiled, and Coop knew he'd done the right thing.

Coop drove home, letting Don doze off on the way there. When they reached Don's apartment, Coop was tempted to stay in the black Expedition. It wouldn't have been the first time that they had slept in a car, but it was a pity to leave a very comfortable bed empty. "Hey." His hand gently covered Don's cheek. "You need to walk, 'cause I'm not carrying you."

Don cleared his throat. "That's because you're a lazy bum," he said in a sleepy voice, but opened the car door.

They walked into the apartment without bothering with the lights. Coop expected Don to go to the bedroom, instead he went to the kitchen and took out a beer from the fridge. Coop trapped his partner against the counter, and took the beer away. "You don't need this, Don. I know it feels like you do, but you'll snap. You know, we both have been there, where sleep is the only thing that will help, but it's the only thing that eludes you."

"It's not the only thing. That... that monster eludes me, and I'm tired, Coop, too fucking tired to deal with the bullshit."

Coop covered Don's hands, which were wrapped around the countertop. His voice softened. "Tell me what's gotten under your skin, Don. It's not just the case."

"There are fifteen dead men - that we know of - God knows how many more that we don't know about, we have no leads, and you don't think it's the case?"

Coop shook his head. "I don't think it's the case."

Don sighed and lowered his head. "Maybe you're right." He looked up again, and even in the dark, they were staring at each other. "My father has been calling, saying that I never call, never go to the house."

"And it's my fault, right?" Coop smirked. "Don't fight with your father because of me."

"But it's not you; it's this case, and Jenny and Charlie. I'm ready to kill them both. One says it's a poor black man, no education, someone who got hurt by someone on the down low; the other says it's a rich, well-educated black man, statistically probable that he's straight. They can't get psychology and numbers to agree, and they are driving me crazy in the process."

"Look, I know he's your brother, but numbers... they don't solve every crime, and profiling-" Coop snorted. "You know how much faith I have in that mambo jumbo. What do you think? You're read the files, studied the murders, what does your gut tell you?"

Don took a deep breath. "I think they're both wrong. I think they are both looking at the information, but they aren't looking at what's not there."

Coop moved back, and leaned against the fridge. "Tell me about it. What do you think is missing?"

Don began to pace. "First, in none of the murders there is a mention of a black guy, anyone suspicious or out of place. The victims all lived in white neighborhoods, which according to Jenny proves that the perp feels betrayed, but regardless of the reasons, a black man, especially a poor man, would be noticed."

"What about the help? Rich people don't notice who cleans their gardens."

Don shook his head. "There is no one that fits the profile. Besides, these men were killed in clubs frequented by white people. Someone, somewhere would have noticed."

Coop grinned. "Sounds like you have your own profiling done. Tell me who this murder is, Don."

"He's white, he's a racist, and he's cunning. He's probably jealous that these men have what he doesn't have: better education, more money. He hates them because they are black, but interact with 'their betters'. I think the gay thing is just... a red herring, or maybe just a bonus for him, but it's still a way to cover his tracks."

"And that bothers you."

"Of course, he's managed to make us look in the wrong direction," Don said.

"But there's more," Coop whispered in the dark. "The victims, they are just like you and me, different skin color, but they are just regular guys, love their wives, but there is something missing in their lives. They want what they shouldn't." He narrowed the gap between them, and rested his forehead against Don's. "They want who they shouldn't."

"Oh God, no." Don shook his head slightly so that their foreheads were still touching. "I can't do this now, Coop. Please, don't ask me now."

"I'm not asking you for anything, Don, but I want you to know that I'm here, if you need me."

"I know; I've always known that. I trusted you with my life, still do, but the rest... not now. I can't think straight." Don smiled when he heard Coop chuckle. "You know what I mean."

"I know. C'mon, let's go to bed."

Don raised an eyebrow.

"Fuck you, that's not what I meant."

"You're not really helping there, Coop."

Coop raised Don's chin, and chastely pressed his lips against Don's for a moment, before pulling back. "We're going to bed, you're getting some sleep, and tomorrow you'll go to the office and explain that sometimes numbers and psychology aren't enough, and that we actually have been known to catch a criminal or two without the help of either. Then you tell your agents your theory, and see if you can get yourself a perp. How's that sound?"

"A little too reasonable coming from you."

"Just make sure to kick his fucking ass before you arrest him."

Don smiled. "This sounds more like you. I think that bed sounds like a great idea."


4. The Result

Cooper was waiting at Don's apartment. It was late, but he knew that Don had probably spent the day buried in paper work, making sure that all the 'Ts' were crossed, and 'Is' dotted. No one wanted a serial killer to go free because of a technicality.

Don arrived around 11:20. He walked in without a word, and dropped on the couch next to Coop. He took the beer from Coop's hand and took a swig.

"Everything settled?"

Don nodded. "States are fighting to see who gets first dibs. The D.A. in New York wants to try him first, before the death penalty law expires."

"Do you care?"

Don shook his head. "I can't say that I'll be shedding any tears over the bastard."

"I doubt many people will." Coop took the beer back. "How's your brother?"

"He's upset, kept saying that we didn't give him the right data. Jenny is pissed too that she was wrong, and I wasn't." Don turned his head to look at his partner and grinned. "I love my brother, but it feels good to know that I can still do this job without his help."

"You're a damn good agent, Don, but you're getting lazy, trusting others."

"Sometimes you have to."

"I know, but don't forget that your instincts are the result of years of training and learning. They aren't less valid than the math or the psychology."

"When the hell did you become so insightful?"

"Hey, I spend my time doing nothing all day. I gotta think once in a while," Coop answered with face-splitting grin.

"Don't strain your brain." Don found the bottle again, but this time, he didn't drink it. Instead, he put it down on the coffee table, before turning to Coop. He moved slowly, hesitantly, but giving Coop the chance to move away. Their cheeks touched before their lips did.

"What are you doing, Don?" Coop asked softly.

"Trusting my instincts. Why? Afraid that you won't be able to ditch me in the morning?"

Coop shook his head. "Afraid that I won't want to."

"You can stay, ask for a transfer," Don suggested. "It's time you got out of fugitive recovery anyway."

"Let's talk about this later, okay?" Coop never gave Don the chance to answer. He captured Don's lips, fighting as their tongues battled, meeting again and again in their first real kiss, a kiss that didn't seem to end.

A clock was clicking away, or maybe it was his heart, Coop didn't know, but time seemed to go on forever, and not fast enough. "Take your fucking jacket off," he growled, before returning to his assault.

He waited until the jacket and tie were off, before pushing Don back. He tagged on Don's shirt, wincing when he heard the rip. "You didn't need this shirt, did you?"

Don let out a breathy laugh. "Not particularly, no, but if you can salvage the pants..."

"I'll see what I can do, but what about the belt?"

"You're a piece of shit."

"Yeah?" Coop pressed his hand against Don's hard cock. "What about now?"

"Now, you're a fucking tease." Don reached out, and with some difficulty took Coop's shirt off. His fingers ran over the bullet scar, before he kissed it. "I've been looking at this for days. You, strutting around shirtless all the time, and I couldn't get my eyes off. Too close, this was too close, Coop."

"Don't! Don't start. You know this is our job."

Don shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I kept thinking that I might not have had the chance to do this. Maybe it's the worse idea we've ever come up with, and we've had our share of bad ideas, but I..." He sighed, and looked into Coop's eyes. "We could die every time we go to work. I know that, I also know that you were my partner, the one person I always trusted, but you were more. I just don't know what that more entails, not yet, but I want to find out if it won't ruin our friendship."

"It won't." Coop got up, and extended a hand.

Don took it, before asking, "What now?"

"Now, we go to bed, so we don't have to move afterwards." Coop wrapped his arms around Don's body, and bit Don's neck gently. "I know how lazy you are."

"Always blame it on me."

"Don't I always?"

"Just like old times," Don mumbled, but headed for the bedroom with a grin on his face. Neither of them were good at relationships, neither of them had even tried with another man, but it couldn't be so hard, not when the other person was the man you trusted with your life.

*******

Alan was no mathematician. He didn't know about Markov Chain, probabilities, and conditionally independent events, but he was a father, and he knew when his children were happy.

He watched while they ate. Don was sitting next to Bill, whispering as they ate, laughing at some inside joke. Don was happy, happier than Allan had ever seen him.

Joy came in the form of one Bill Cooper, FBI agent, fugitive recovery unit, Don's former partner. Maybe Alan would never have the grandchildren he wanted, but he didn't blame Bill for that. If Don was happy, Alan was happy, and Bill was more than welcome in L.A.