Don Eppes sat on the edge of the pool table and looked around the room, making mental notes of everything he'd need to include when he filed his report the next day. It was late, he was tired, and still pretty pissed off about the LAPD detective screwing up his grab. David Sinclair and some of Don's other agents were finishing up statements from a small group of witnesses still left at the bar where they'd nearly nailed their suspect, and Don, as the agent in charge, had already spent the obligatory time with the manager trying to calm him down.
What he really didn't need to add to the whole experience was to glance over at the bar and notice Agent Billy Cooper, that big chink in his armor, sitting there with his head back like he'd just been napping, watching him through low-lidded eyes. He was half on and half off the chair, elbows on the edge of the bar, leaning back so casually it wasn't possible for him to look any more comfortable. His flak vest was pulled up a little because of the position, a slim bit of skin showing where the T-shirt rode up and his jeans were weighed down by the gun.
It was the knowing quality of Coop's gaze that annoyed him. Don pursed his lips and glared at Coop, which only made him smirk all the more.
He pulled out his phone to call the office while Coop continued to watch him. Don reached down and rolled the nine-ball around, clacking it against the cue ball just to hear something besides the sound of his own thoughts in his head and the low-level nattering of the agents with their questions. And to look at something else besides Coop's knowing, smug face.
Eventually Coop came over and stood by the table, hip resting against the edge. Body heat radiated off him like he was some kind of a human solar generator; he'd always been like that, as if that reddish hair was the outside manifestation of some mysterious inner fire. Kind of gave an extra spin to calling him hot.
"That was truly a thing of beauty," Coop said admiringly, the smirk getting smirkier.
"What?" Don asked idly, rolling a couple more pool balls over the felt in quick succession.
"You going off like a roman candle on Reed's ass. Been a long time since I've seen you lose it like that, and it's a work of art, that temper of yours."
Giving his best mock scowl, Don said, "Don't look at me like that." He wasn't sure if it was a warning or a plea.
"Like what?" Coop hopped up on the table and shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Like you're... hungry." He knew Coop was totally aware of what he meant, but he typically shrugged off such comments.
"Hey, it's late, we haven't had a thing to eat for hours now."
Don just looked at him with what he could only hope was a withering stare.
"Don't you think it's time to go home?" Coop asked quietly. "Seriously. They got it wrapped up here, we can leave. They don't need boss man. Make a new plan tomorrow with a fresh mind."
He glanced over at Sinclair and the others and decided Coop was right, even if Don was more than a little wary about going back to his apartment right now -- at least, with the way Coop was looking at him. Don had offered his place up that first night; no way would he let someone that close to him stay in a motel. Not that it was completely unexpected that old times would rear their head, but after the first night passed with nothing going on except some good whiskey opened and old times recalled, he'd wondered if maybe they hadn't grown beyond such things. Now, though, standing close to Coop, that faint marinelike after-shave scent Don remembered so well, he was pretty sure they hadn't grown much beyond anything. Don would just have to ride with it to find out the answer.
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He hurled the ball hard across the table, watching it carom off the sides. Raising an eyebrow at Coop, he walked past him and out.
It was all so familiar, yet still foreign territory. Maybe because they were on Don's home turf instead of Phoenix or Albuquerque or any other place across the West their shared job had taken them. They'd only once been together here in L.A. He'd collected so much other baggage along the way, though, that he was certain it wasn't just the location making it feel weird, couldn't be that. It was how things were with Coop, always: you waited for him to tell you what the game was.
Don tossed his keys on the table as they came in the door and popped a stick of gum in his mouth, while Coop threw his jacket over a chair and appeared to make himself at home. He wanted to turn on the TV, just build a wall of noise so he didn't have to think, but then he'd probably see their fucked-up missed grab on the news. Coop didn't seem the worse for wear, though, and took two beers out of the fridge, handing one to Don.
"Gotta let it go, buddy."
"We could have had him. She just... she's out in the open." It wasn't about the chase this time; it was about protecting the witness, to Don's eyes. Maybe Coop wouldn't see that, but it was imperative to him.
"We'll take care of it." Coop sat down on the couch as if he owned the place.
Taking the chair opposite, Don fiddled with the bottle, staring at it like it held some kind of mysterious answer to all his questions. Like it was one of Charlie's equations and if he just turned the bottle around in the light, he'd see it all diagrammed out. His agitation wasn't just about losing out on the hunt; that had happened plenty of times in his career. But the witness... she mattered. She made catching this guy a lot more imperative.
"Stop it." Coop's voice cut through his thoughts and he realized he'd been sitting there tapping his fingernails in a staccato pattern hard against the bottle.
"Sorry."
"You still got your habits."
Shaking his head, Don replied, "And you still have yours."
Coop smiled at him. "You're different, you and your brother. But that repeating pattern thing, that's the same. There's similar qualities, even though you're different on the surface."
"Charlie's... he's just lived a really different life. Different set of expectations his whole life, different responses."
"Must have been tough growing up with a genius little bro."
"I don't know. I mean, it's not like I have anything else to compare it to." He smiled to let Coop know he wasn't carrying the weight over it so many people thought he was. "It is what it is."
"Still... kind of interesting, how you never really talked about him all the time I've known you. Never said much about your family at all beyond mom, dad, brother. Then to find out he's this math genius." Coop put the bottle down, leaned forward, and looked at him. "What was it made you not want to tell me about them? About coming home to take care of your mom?"
Don rolled his head around on his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck. There wasn't an easy way to explain it to Coop that didn't make it sound like he was trying to hide himself, or like he was ashamed of something.
"Trying to keep things separate, is all."
Coop stood up and walked over to Don. "Lose the gum."
"Ah, Coop, I don't think this is such a good idea. We should just leave things the way they were." But he took the gum out anyway and stuck it to the bottle.
Coop put his hand on Don's shoulder, gripping it hard, pulling him up. It wasn't like Don didn't go willingly, but he was tense, nervous in a way he hadn't ever been with Coop. "Been a while. I kinda forgot where we left 'em."
Eventually he looked up at Coop, meeting those pale blue-green eyes that always saw right through him. All these years, off and on -- mostly on when they were in Phoenix, then spottier when he was in New Mexico heading down a different path... somehow he'd never expected them to be on again here. To be standing in front of Coop, the heat of his breath a shadow across his skin, the solid feel of him against his own body.
"You still saying you don't miss it? Running someone down, the whole game?" Coop ran his hand down Don's arm; he almost shivered.
"Not so much." He moved his mouth to Coop's, hovering a breath away. "But I missed you."
Coop tasted of beer and history, a bittersweet past that Don thought had disappeared the day he came back to California, looking at a future he couldn't imagine. His mouth was hot and firm, just the way Don remembered, and the roughness of his hands, the strength of his arms was still imprinted on his body. Sliding his hand up under Coop's T-shirt, he felt the hardness of his belly, roamed up to his chest. The territory he had nearly memorized after years spent learning it.
They stayed there for a while, a reunion that was more real and necessary than what they'd been allowed the day before, reacquainting themselves to needs long since put carefully away. Don reached behind to take off his gun as Coop did the same; their badges and phones dropped to the sofa. Coop was not demanding but he made it clear where he wanted to go, pushing Don with his body toward the bedroom.
Remembering the steps was easy: everything Coop liked, the things he liked to do. But it had been such a long time, years like miles in between, and Don wasn't sure what footing he was on anymore. Coop always insisted that fugitive recovery got in your blood; maybe that was true, but Don now knew it was more than passion for a job they shared. The way Coop kissed him, the way his hands ranged so greedily over Don's body, made him sure of one thing -- it was Coop that was in his blood, nothing else.
He hadn't changed much -- still wore the boxer briefs that emphasized his strong legs and ass, still had the hard flat stomach, wide shoulders with that pale freckled skin of back and chest. When they worked as a team, they had often gone to the gym together as well, and Don had always appreciated watching the way Coop had diligently worked on creating the body he'd enjoyed so much.
Letting himself be pushed back on the bed, Don watched as Coop pulled his jeans off, then his shorts. Coop always took his time; he was never the quick and dirty type, and only rarely did Don wish he was. Coop moved his hands slowly up Don's body, watching with that privately amused smile on his face. There had never been much point in asking him what the smile meant; he'd learned that fast.
"You got something?" Coop asked, and when Don nodded in the direction of the bathroom, he disappeared for a moment. Don didn't even remember having had the foresight to get anything practical, especially not for sex with another guy, but he must have at some point -- like he was unconsciously bargaining on Coop being here someday. In the blood. Yeah.
When Coop came back he crawled across the bed to Don, palming his cock, running his hand in languid circles all over Don's body. Leaning up on an elbow, he roped his fingers through Don's hair. "Donnie... That hair's too short to grab." Then he kissed him: hard, soft, a little of both. Like he was filling up with those years in between. "Been too long."
This was familiar, too: the dichotomy of Billy Cooper -- rough and gentle at the same time, old and new, cool and warm. He let go of that guy's-guy, wryly distanced act in bed, showed a level of feeling Don wasn't always used to and couldn't often match. But he liked it, maybe even needed it since he had such a hard time letting go himself. He pushed his fingers through Coop's hair and said wryly, "You're one to talk about too short," then pulled him down hard.
After a while he let Coop turn him over, the press of his hand on the back of Don's neck a proprietary gesture. For some reason Don had always liked that as well, the way he nearly took ownership. It was the rare time Don allowed someone else to take charge. Slick fingers entered him; it had been too long and he almost flinched. But Coop said his name again, murmured assurances with lips pressed to his shoulder, and Don relaxed as Coop took his time, working his old magic. He knew everything Don liked and used that knowledge well.
Then Coop was there, in him, above and around him with that heat, as good as ever before. They fit, he thought, they really were in each other's blood, and it didn't matter how much distance or time went between them because they would come together like this and fit.
They moved with each other until he felt Coop thrust hard against him over and over, sighing noises coming from deep in his chest that Don had been used to, once. He was still hard, eager, needing more, but something else Don knew was that Coop would never let him hold there, unsatisfied.
True to form, after taking a few minutes to get himself back together, Coop had shifted Don onto his back, trailing little bites and nips down his body until he took Don's cock in his mouth. He sucked in a breath, overwhelmed by the pleasure. It hadn't just been a long time since he'd done this with Coop; the truth was he'd nearly lived like a monk since he got back to L.A. and it had just been a damn long time since anyone's mouth was on his dick. So he came embarrassingly fast, though Coop's smartass grin when he opened his eyes again told him he shouldn't feel that bad.
"Missed that as much as I did, from the looks of things," Coop said as he settled in behind Don, tossing his arm across Don's stomach.
"Haven't done much besides work since I got here. Very little social life."
"And take care of your mother, from what I heard. Still taking care of your family."
Don pulled the sheet and blanket up, settling on his side, allowing Coop to drape his arm across him again. "That, too."
They were silent so long Don thought Coop had fallen asleep until he said, "I'm sorry about all that. I'd heard something, but I never got in touch. I should have."
What he didn't say, Don was very aware of: he hadn't been in touch because he hadn't known where things stood with Kim. It wasn't for lack of concern. The last time they'd been together, both on a job and personally, was shortly before Don had gotten engaged. He'd never told Kim much about Coop, the way he'd never told her about so many things -- that had always been the central problem. Don could never figure out how to explain Coop to anyone, let alone the woman he'd decided to marry. He wasn't sure he understood it himself.
"You had no way of knowing. It's not like I got in touch, either."
"Always took it for granted." Coop's voice was slurry, the lack of sleep catching him to him. Don had always been the one of their team who could survive on little sleep; Coop always said he needed his eight hours, even though he didn't.
"It's okay. I took it for granted you knew. And you'd be concerned." He rubbed his fingers across Coop's forearm. "We have to be at work soon." Don turned off the light. He always slept better when Coop was around.
"Sorry about before," Coop said, stepping into Don's office space when he returned from getting the witness into protection. "That was out of line." He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. It had been a long time since the two of them had lost their cool with one another, even though by blowup standards, Coop questioning his methods was pretty low-key. Don's new world was clearly a different one -- in fugitive recovery, you pretty much played by your own rules. That had been a tough adjustment for Don to make himself when he joined this office, and Coop hadn't really had any time to get used to being in an office again, working within constraints.
"Nah, it's okay. It's just... this isn't the kind of job where we can play cowboy." He wasn't entirely willing to let Coop know how much he missed playing cowboy himself, or how much he'd enjoyed busting down the door the day before. Coop had already lured him into showing some of that old form; it could be dangerously easy to get Don to go off plan again.
"Understood. But I was still out of line. Gonna have to take me out to the woodshed."
Anyone else, and Don would have been certain that was a double entendre. But Coop had always kept the two aspects of their relationship utterly separate, much better than Don had ever been about it, in fact. He'd let personal discussions, private jokes about their private life, slip on more than a few occasions -- even last night when he'd made the remark about looking hungry -- but Coop never let it faze him. He kept it strictly business when it was.
"Don't sweat it." There was a message waiting from Charlie; while Don listened Coop sat down in the chair, swinging his leg over the arm, just watching him. Charlie had figured something important out and asked if they could swing by the university.
Don told Coop about it, then nodded in the direction of the door. "Now you'll get a chance to see just how different we really are. Charlie in the leafy halls of academia."
"Scary."
Don laughed as he grabbed his jacket. "He is very much at home there, really. He... fits."
"Like you fit here." Coop had that weird half-smile on his face, the one that always told Don he was thinking something he would never spill, no matter how much Don prodded.
"You think so?"
"The take-charge stuff suits you. Everything you picked up on the job before, but... you have good people and they seem to like doing the job for you."
"Ah, I don't think it's because of me."
"You make a good leader, is what I'm saying."
Don turned the engine over, staring straight ahead, then glanced over at Coop. This was one of those times where he didn't do half as good a job of keeping things separate. "If I do, it's because I learned how from you."
Coop just looked out the window, smiling his enigmatic smile.
He tried really hard to focus on what Charlie was telling him, but Don had been rattled by the conversation with his dad before. It hadn't occurred to him that Dad and Charlie would think there was something else going on with the case. Or that he would let go of everything he'd built here and go back to manhunting.
Finally Coop brought him back out of his reverie when he made a comment about hunting, and Don forced himself to focus more. There was something... weirdly right about working with both Charlie and Coop; he liked the way Coop seemed to have taken to him, how deferential and tentative Charlie had been until he understood that Coop was too easygoing to feel threatened or annoyed. Don could tell Coop was fascinated by the family dynamic, but he hadn't yet asked much about it. Not that Coop asked much about anything, which was a lot of why Don liked him.
They listened to the rest of Charlie's information, talked it out, and then he and Coop nodded to each other.
"Time to go play cowboy?" Coop asked happily.
Don grinned. "Giddyup."
Charlie was obviously feeling a little left out, but he smiled politely. "Don, can I talk to you for a moment?"
Glancing at Coop, who shrugged, Don said, "I'll be with you in a minute," and patted Coop on the arm.
Charlie wore his earnest face, which, after everything with Dad before, kind of rankled him. It was like everyone in his family was turning into a girl.
"Yeah, buddy, what is it?"
"Well, I just wondered... you and Dad. Earlier. Things seemed a little tense."
Don was surprised, because Charlie was usually completely oblivious to anything like disagreements. "You saw that?" He was used to Charlie never noticing anything unless it was directly related to him or what he was thinking about.
"I-- I didn't hear everything, but the two of you seemed a little ... kind of awkward. Not mad or anything?"
"No, no, not mad. Just kind of ... Dad's worrying about stuff he doesn't really need to. He thought with Billy here..."
"Billy?" Don gave him a "what?" look and spread his hands. "It's just that you haven't called him that before." Charlie's brow couldn't be more wrinkled and he dipped his head with an embarrassed smile.
This was getting too weird for Don. "It's not a big deal. Just seems easier to refer to him that way when I'm talking to other people. I'm probably the only one who calls him Coop."
"It's okay," Charlie said nervously, "I'm not trying to imply anything, I'm just... is there something wrong today? That's what I was wondering, first with Dad, and now you and... Billy seem kind of different."
He knew he was scowling at Charlie, showing too much irritation to someone who didn't really take it well, but he snapped, "No. No, nothing's wrong. Just that we need to find McDowd and time is running out."
"Okay." Charlie looked chastened, but he still had that quizzical act going on, like if he had the chance, he'd pepper Don with questions till he cracked. He'd been like that as a kid, following Don around, asking him questions until Don lost his temper and begged their parents to make him stay away.
"Look, what is it you're trying to say here?"
"Nothing, just that... well, you and... Billy seem kind of different today. And Dad seems freaked out that he's here, so I wondered if you were thinking of going back to Phoenix or Albuquerque or something. Like maybe you've made some decisions you're only telling him about."
It shouldn't have surprised him, after the weird way Charlie found out about Kim and now how he'd seen this other part of his life with Coop, that Charlie would link things together this way. Make it a problem that could be solved.
"Well, that's a lot of 'seems,' Charlie. And you're drawing the wrong conclusions. Dad did, too. Billy being here is part of the case, it doesn't mean I'm going back to fugitive recovery, okay? And this morning we just had a little a disagreement about how to handle things -- Billy's used to playing cowboys and Indians, and this kind of situation doesn't allow for that. Everything's copasetic now, okay?"
Jesus, was everyone going to ride his ass today, or what? He didn't need to be in a black mood if they were heading over to Choy's. There was too much at stake right now to have everyone getting under his skin and putting him off his game.
Charlie nodded, but he didn't appear happier. "Okay."
Don squeezed his arm. "Listen, I mean it. Don't worry about any of it. And thanks for this. You did a great job. I bet by tomorrow we have McDowd in hand thanks to you."
When he slid back into the driver's seat, Coop watched him without saying anything as he put the car in gear and got them out to the freeway. After a while he said, "I seem to be causing a lot of upset in your family."
"Nah, it's not you. It's just..." Don stared out at the road, not sure himself what it was all about. Maybe fear. "Dad thinks you being here means I'm getting back in the game. He most emphatically does not like that." Don wasn't going to mention the running away from himself comment because he wasn't sure he understood where that had come from at all. "And Charlie's picking up on Dad's distress. He's like that. Tends to be really sensitive to other people's moods. They're worrying about stuff they really don't know about."
"Donnie, they don't know you. You've been gone a long time, and now you all need to get to know each other again. Charlie's just kind of grabbing at what he sees, which is you doing a job he doesn't totally understand."
"I know. I know that." He rubbed his head. "When I was growing up, I knew that Charlie was special, and that he was going to get special treatment. I don't know, maybe that's why I left. I didn't have anything... special to offer. I was interested in this one thing, and so I went off and did it. Like it was just... mine. Even if it wasn't as important as what Charlie could do."
Coop stared out the window, then turned to him, looking kind of grim. "He's got a gift, that's true. But what you do matters -- save lives, help a lot of people. Someone could have the greatest gift in the world, but it only matters what they do with it. Your gift is this, and Charlie's using his own abilities to help you do it. It's his first chance to be your brother, really." He raised an eyebrow at Don.
"Yeah? I don't know. Maybe."
"He admires you."
"I don't know. I doubt it. Someone that smart's not gonna admire anyone who's dumber than they are." He said it with a grin, but there was a part of him that really did believe that. What Charlie might admire in him, Don couldn't imagine.
"That's not the thing he needs to admire." Coop was much more serious than usual, and Don remembered that he didn't have much family left of his own. Just a dad that he had never been very close to.
"I get what you're saying. But I don't know. Anyway, I can only reassure them so much. Doesn't matter what you do in the FBI, it's not the kind of job that lends itself to reassuring people who love you."
"Nope, it's not." Coop rubbed his cheek a couple times, watching the traffic. "Must have been hard dealing with the expectations people have for someone like him."
"He got a lot of privileges I doubt any other kid would get. Mom and Dad kind of doted on him. It wasn't horrible or anything. Just... anyways, it's not like I have anything else to compare it to, like I said. Maybe that's the way it always is in families. I don't know."
"But it was you who came home to take care of your mom. He freaked out." Before, Coop had made it sound like he didn't know the details about all the stuff with his mom, but clearly he didn't miss a trick. Never had.
"Yeah. Just... that's how Charlie is. Kind of lives in this protected little world. He couldn't handle it, and it wasn't something Dad could do alone. And I needed to be there for her, anyhow."
"You don't resent him?"
Don sighed. "No. Well, sometimes, maybe a little. Exasperated, I guess, is what it really is. But you know, life goes on."
"It does indeed." Coop tapped his finger on Don's forearm. "If it's easier for me to get out of the picture, I will. Smooth things over with the family. You'll get McDowd with or without me, and it might make things easier."
"No freaking way." Don nodded at the exit. "Almost there."
The idea of Coop disappearing just because his father and brother were worried was incredibly annoying. Despite the tension of the case, Don felt better than he had since he came home. It was odd now, but he couldn't even recall how things had started with the two of them. It had been a long, long time ago was all he remembered, some follow or other where they had been on the road for weeks, stuck in motel rooms with barely the time to occasionally stop to eat or sleep. At some point the two of them just knew it was what they wanted and had fallen into it, exactly as they had the rhythm of working as a team.
No matter where they went, what office they worked out of, no matter how much time separated them, he and Coop had always fallen back into that rhythm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Coop was the only guy Don had ever even looked at, and he was pretty sure he was the only guy Coop had been with. Even after he'd met Kim, the few times they'd worked together, he and Coop had reconnected. Kim had always been a little suspicious of their teaming up, once even making a sarcastic remark about "your special friend." But he'd never found the way to explain it to her -- even assuming he could, which Don had always been sure he couldn't.
The silence hadn't been because he was afraid of what would happen with the job, and it hadn't been because he didn't think Kim wasn't deserving of an explanation, even if she walked out. The truth was just simpler -- whatever was between him and Coop, it was theirs alone, and no one else would get it. The off and on nature, the quiet way they fell into it, the fact that they never talked about the big stuff, or futures or pasts. Most people he knew weren't like Coop and they weren't like Don, so telling anyone about it was pointless.
Don pulled the SUV into the shipping depot parking lot and looked over at Coop, who just gazed back at him, probably thinking about the same things he was. They nodded and got out of the car, both drawing their weapons. This was just something you kept to yourself.
Don still wore his vest when he got home, so he stripped off the gear as soon as they came in the door. Coop took care of the steaks they'd picked up on the way home; he had laughed about Don having the Outback takeaway number on his speed-dial and remarked, "No wonder your dad always wants you there for dinner."
Don had to cop to the fact that he stopped there way too often; cooking had never been his thing, and anyway, it was just him with these strange hours, so he'd come to know all the places where he could get a halfway decent meal. He got some beers from the fridge while Coop took his gear off, and they sat down to eat for the first time all day. He planned to go back to the office as soon as he got a couple hours' sleep and a shower; they still had a lot to figure out on a case that made less sense the more they discovered. They'd already hashed over the deaths at Choy's for a while, but they were both damn tired, and Don knew from experience that if they didn't stop -- even for a bit -- they wouldn't be able to go much further.
They ate in silence, Don enjoying the warm, heavy weight of Coop's leg pressed against his under the table. When he was finished, Coop picked up the remains for the trash, and Don went to take a shower. First he called his dad, though, to apologize for not making it by, even though he knew he'd get an earful.
It didn't surprise him at all that Coop joined him in the shower after a few minutes.
"We'll figure it out," he said, kneading the tension out of Don's shoulders. It felt better than anything had for a long time, even last night. "She's safe now. You're doing a good job, Donnie." Somehow Coop always seemed know exactly what weighed on his mind most. There could be a million things going wrong, but he'd cue in on the worst of the lot. Those big strong hands worked his muscles as if he was a professional. Coop slid his arm across Don's neck, almost like a headlock. Coop's body, heated by the water, pressed against Don's, his cock hard, tight along his ass.
"I know. I just want to get him before he gets anyone else," he said, aware of the ticklish trail of Coop's tongue around the edge of his ear and along his neck giving him goosebumps. Coop let him go and switched him around to stroke his dick. Don leaned his head back under the water, tracing lazy fingers over Coop's tattoo. When he opened his eyes, Coop had that hungry look again.
Eventually Coop leaned forward, palms pressed against the wall. Don took the only thing handy -- shampoo-conditioner, not exactly comfortable, but handy -- to slick himself up. Sensation flooded through him as he entered Coop, the tight heat around his cock, the hard muscle of hips and back under his hand. Their deep, panting breaths were still audible under the running water.
Over and over for these few days, they had talked about how it had been too long. It wasn't just the time apart or being lonely. Being with Coop, touching him and feeling him again, all he could think of was how different this was from anything else he'd known in life, how right they were when they were together.
When he came, Don plastered himself over Coop, holding himself up with one hand just above Coop's, his other on Coop's dick. He was trembling, sated, tired... and if he could have stayed like this for a year, he would have. He loved Coop's moans, the way his fingers clutched the wet tile as he came finally, the way he glanced over his shoulder with that content, mysterious smile.
As much as he wanted to finish this case, Don was hyper-aware that would mean Coop was back on the road, hunting again, without him. And that meant they might never be like this again.
They were back in the office before dawn, going through files, talking it through. Hard to believe that they had just been together in a world apart; back to business now and no one else the wiser. Three grande lattes and Don still didn't feel awake; it wasn't helped by being in the same clothes as the day before. Although sleep had been what they needed most, they hadn't stopped for it after the shower: once they had a taste of each other again, they couldn't stop. Hungry, always. But closing in on a suspect meant closing in on the time they were allowed together away from the job. They were both aware there was a date-stamp on this thing.
"You never change," Don had told Coop when they finally caught McDowd. While they processed everything and put together the report on Reed, Don found himself watching Coop. He really hadn't changed in all the important ways, but underneath, more subtly, he was as different as Don was now. Maybe they'd grown up a little, or maybe they were just lonelier without each other. Coop brought out more than just Don's wild side; he wasn't sure what the words were, but it was ... some kind of completion, Don thought.
When he finished up his paperwork, he noticed Coop was gone. He'd probably be putting the gear he'd tossed in the back of Don's truck back into his own, getting ready to hit the road. Sure enough, he found him out in the parking lot. Don watched from the front of the building for a moment before walking out to say goodbye.
It was the way Coop so easily accepted his preference to stay in LA that stung. Whatever Don wanted, that's what Coop wanted for him and he was genuine in his support. But he wanted Coop to somehow understand, without him stating it, there could be more -- stay, and let's see what happens. Except it would have to come from Coop himself, not from Don asking.
Coop got in the truck and backed out, rolling down the window. He slid his sunglasses on and grinned at Don.
"Hope I'll see you back here," Don said.
All this time Coop had never broken his record of not talking about personal stuff around work. That's why it was such a shock to hear him say in a low, insinuating voice, "You're in my blood, Donnie."
Time hadn't killed that need they had for each other, and Don didn't believe distance would, either.
Don grinned back at him, squinting into the sun. He knocked a fist against the door frame a couple times. "It's good here, Coop. Could even be better."
"Lots of things to think about on my long drive back."
Sliding his sunglasses on, Don asked, "Will I see you again?"
Coop put the truck in gear and actually chuckled at him. "You do the math this time."
"Hey, it could happen. Picked up a lot from Charlie."
"You have." He put his fist up and knocked Don's knuckles a couple times.
As Don watched him drive away, he shoved his hands in his pockets. It felt emptier without him already, but Don knew that with someone like Coop, time and distance and miles in between didn't really matter: if they were in your blood, they were never really gone.
End
9/25/05