A/N: I've had this plot bunny for some time now, although I can't watch „Numb3rs" regularly. I've seen the whole first season and then only a few episodes from seasons 2 and 3, plus Charlie/Amita fanvids on YouTube :) My apologies, therefore, if anything seems odd or OOC. I simply don't know Charlie and Amita well enough… I've gathered that Charlie and Amita finally managed to enter into a relationship (as of episodes "Waste Not" and after)…

Sorry this doesn' t really have a plot… 'Shippers only.

All reviews welcome!

Classification: Very fluffy one-shot, set somewhere in the third season while Charlie is still relatively non-committal about his relationship with Amita.

A little angst, but mostly just romance. Still rated PG for some violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own "Numb3rs" or Charlie and Amita. No money is being made through this story.

xxx

Sensitivity

These three words
Always kindles
An aching heart to smile inside
Stevie Wonder, "These Three Words"

Charlie Eppes was a genius. Everyone would have agreed without hesitation. But his ingenuity did not comprise every aspect of his life, as he had often found to his dismay. Human relations, for instance.

All the mathematics in the world would not help him to sort things out with Amita. He still did not quite understand what he had done wrong; Amita had left without explanation. A glimpse at her face, her set jaw, her blinking eyes, had told Charlie that she had been close to crying. But when he had asked her what was wrong, she had just given him an icy look and said, "If you can't find that out by yourself, Charlie, then I don't think this relationship makes any sense to either of us." And then she had stormed off, leaving a confused Charlie behind.

Women, thought Charlie. At least he tried to. But a nagging voice in his head told him that the issue was not as simple as that. Moreover, Amita was not the kind of girl who started crying at everything. If something upset her so much, it had to be rather grave.

What did I do wrong? Charlie wondered. We're working on Don's latest case – she can't very well expect me to discuss feelings over the hunt for a rapist and pedophile… Even as he had this thought, it occurred to him that it was probably not something he had done which upset Amita but rather something he had not done. He turned his eyes to the chart on the board again, to the photos of the victims, the map, the GPS pictures.

The murders were gruesome and appalling. And what was worst, all the victims were children. Three girls, two boys, all between six and ten. Even Don had recoiled at the sight of the bodies; even Megan had admitted that they hadn't seen a case of such horror in years.

And he, Charlie, had only thought about the math while everyone else around him spent at least a moment thinking about the victims, mourning them. Instead of showing some humaneness, Charlie had functioned like a machine, calculating in his head, rapidly searching for the right mathematical principle to apply.

How cold-hearted and insensitive he must have seemed to Amita! She, along with all the others, had felt for the children and their parents – something which simply had not occurred to Charlie in his mathematical frenzy.

It occurred to him now. Looking at the picture of seven-year-old Josh Boylan, beaten and mutilated beyond recognition, he felt hot tears well in his eyes. Once he had his equation finished, Charlie always became human again.

He turned around and snatched his keys from the table. He had to find Amita.

xxx

Amita walked quickly down the road. Her eyes were still burning from the tears she had forced back. She had known before that Charlie was completely consumed by his mathematics and forgot the world around him, but it still had been a shock to see him look at those gruesome pictures, not even look but only glance casually, and immediately starting to scribble down formulas. It was as if it did not affect him at all, in any way, while Amita's heart had cringed at the sight and she could not get those images out of her head.

Could I stand a man who is like a machine at times? A man whose only resort is mathematics?

Amita did not know. God knew, she was a math genius, too. She loved functions and equations, and she could understand that Charlie sought comfort in the reassuring constancy of numbers. But she did not want the numbers to become her rival.

Is Charlie Eppes capable of having the same feelings as a normal person?

Don't be silly, she answered herself. Of course, he is.

Am I as important to him as he is to me?

Don't you remember how nervous he was when you thought about going to Harvard? her head reminded her.

Amita almost smiled at the memory.

"I guess I'm just trying to fill the air with noise to keep you from telling me…"

How sweet he had been back then, in the restaurant; nervous but honest, almost like a schoolboy. Her heart had gone out to him, and she had welcomed and savored the kiss they had shared afterwards.

But things had been complicated from the start.

"I just never know what's personal and what's professional with us."

"I know. It's… been…"

He had kissed her after he'd said that, and for a while, it had seemed as if they finally would be able to hit it off. They respected and trusted each other, which was a better foundation for a relationship than mere attraction or passion, Amita believed. And although she knew Charlie's mistakes, she still felt drawn to him.

But at times, he could still startle her, even shock her, when he retreated into his own world and seemed oblivious to anything else but his numbers.

Besides, sometimes Amita still was not sure whether he fully committed to what they shared.

"I'm massively confused and you're ambivalent…" Her own word rang in her ears, and she discovered that they were still true. Things were far from being sorted out.

Sometimes, Charlie Eppes lacked the sensitivity and empathy she expected – needed – in a man.

Amita slung her bag over her other shoulder and stopped briefly at the crossroads traffic light. When the signal changed, she hurried across the street, still too deep in thought to look left or right.

Therefore, she winced and froze on the spot in the middle of the street when the screeching of tires reached her ears.

xxx

Charlie hurried along the sidewalk, trying to calculate where Amita would most likely be heading for. Every intersection posed a fifty-fifty chance of taking the wrong turn, but for once, Charlie did not listen to the math but tried to guess Amita's thoughts. She would probably go south, he reckoned, and so he followed the main road.

About half a mile ahead, the traffic stalled. Charlie saw red and blue lights flashing and, coming closer, could discern the figure of a policeman directing the cars past a spot that was cordoned off. Now he saw the ambulance, too.

Probably an accident.

Charlie remained on the far sidewalk, intending to go past the site of the accident quickly, not wanting to waste any time by stopping and staring. But of course, he glanced over.

And his heart skipped a beat.

A paramedic had just come around the ambulance to pick up a leather bag that was lying on the road. Charlie was close enough to see the bag in detail, and he recognized Amita's. He felt as if someone had poured gallons of icy water over his head. His body went numb for a moment and he felt the blood drain from his face.

No… no…

Then he started running towards the paramedic.

"What happened?" he shouted.

The paramedic frowned, but seeing Charlie's distress, he answered, "Car accident. Sir, would you please step back and…"

He did not finish, for Charlie had just spotted something that made him freeze once more: by the side of the road lay the unmistakable black form of a body bag zipped shut.

Pain washed over Charlie like a tsunami. He moaned, feeling physical torment at the sight.

Amita…

"Sir?" The paramedic came closer to him. "Are you alright?"

Charlie looked at him, his vision blurred with tears. When he spoke, every word was like a dagger in his heart.

"The body…"

"Road traffic kill," the paramedic answered. "A girl crossed the street back there and was hit by a car. But…"

"Amita," said Charlie, and then repeated her name. "Amita!" It was almost a scream.

The paramedic frowned again. "What?"

"The girl… Amita… my girlfriend…" Charlie stammered.

The paramedic suddenly smiled. Charlie could not believe it, but the man actually smiled while he was trying to grasp the fact that Amita had died without having heard his apologies.

"What?!" he snapped at the paramedic.

"If your girlfriend is the same Amita who saw and reported the accident, then I suggest you just go around the ambulance over there, buddy, and meet her," the paramedic said wryly. "She's a bit shaky but certainly not hurt. Oh, and while you're at it, why don't you just take her bag with you?"

xxx

Amita gratefully clasped the cup of coffee the paramedics had given her. She was sitting on a folding chair on the sidewalk, a blanket around her shoulders, still a little weak on her feet from the shock. Surely she had not needed that to top it all off.

The sounds from the road were a blurry cacophony of sirens wailing, motors running and people talking. At one time, she thought she heard someone say her name, but she did not listen nor pay any further attention to it. She rather concentrated on the coffee, feeling the caffeine revive her circulation. By the last sip, she already felt a lot better, although her hands were still trembling slightly.

Then she heard her name again, clearly this time. She looked up and her eyes widened in astonishment as she saw Charlie running towards her. He looked disheveled and pale.

Amita wanted to say something but then Charlie reached her. He dropped to his knees in front of her, grasped her hands and kissed her knuckles. Then he buried his head in her lap and started crying uncontrollably, muttering something under his breath over and over again.

Amita had no clue what was going on. She just understood that something must have gravely upset Charlie. Tentatively, she freed one of her hands from Charlie's iron grip and briefly stroked his hair.

"Hey…" she said quietly. "What's the matter, Charlie?" Seeing him so desperate made it impossible for her to still be angry or disappointed in him.

Charlie did not answer; he rose from his knees, reached for her, pulled her up and enveloped her in a hug that knocked her breath out of her. Amita could not remember that anyone had ever hugged her so fiercely. Charlie held her as if he wanted to squeeze her to death, burying his head against her neck.

He was still muttering, and as Amita listened, she thought she understood what he said.

"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…"

The words took a moment to hit home.

Is Charlie Eppes telling me that he loves me?!

You must have misunderstood him, she told herself. The Charlie Eppes I know will probably take years until he can tell someone he loves them.

"Charlie?" Amita tried again.

Finally, Charlie calmed down a little. He lifted his tear-streaked face from her shoulder and looked at her. The pallor of his face was ghostly.

He released her from the hug and instead cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking the corners of her mouth. When he spoke, his voice sounded strained and husky.

"I thought you were dead," he said.

Amita frowned. "Dead? Why?"

"I saw the ambulance… and the body bag… and then I saw your bag lying in the middle of the street…" The mere memory of it seemed to cause him pain.

Amita finally understood.

"I thought I'd lost you…" Charlie continued. "And I felt as if the world was falling apart under my feet. I couldn't bear losing you…"

His tears started flowing again as he lowered his face to hers and kissed her frantically, as if he had to convince himself that she was still there, still real. He tasted salty.

When their lips parted, Charlie leaned his forehead against hers.

"I'm so sorry, Amita… for everything. I don't even want to try to imagine how you're feeling now… first Don's case, and now the accident. There's been so much death around you today… I don't know if I can still ask of you to help me with Don's cases… I might be asking too much of you."

His hands sneaked around her neck as he kissed her again, tenderly this time.

"I've realized something, Amita. I'm hiding behind my numbers and equations whenever things get… unpleasant. But that's not what I should do. I should allow myself to crack sometimes. As long as you'll be there to put me back together, I won't be afraid of that."

Amita was moved by his words. Her earlier doubts were forgotten. She lifted her hand and gently caressed his cheek, holding a strand of his locks between her fingers and curling it almost playfully.

"My dear, stupid genius," she said affectionately. "I'll be there. You know that. As long as you'll be there for me, too."

"I promise." Charlie's voice was a hoarse whisper.

Amita put her arms around his neck and laced her fingers. "Then I promise, too."

Charlie smiled. It looked sad and a little crooked, but it was a smile nonetheless. "I'd be lost without you," he admitted silently. "And I want you to know. I'm sorry that I seem to be an insensitive idiot sometimes…"

"Well…" drawled Amita, a glint in her eye, "I think you've just proven that you're not insensitive at all." She played around with a strand of his hair. "And besides, I know that you're not. It just doesn't show always."

"I know." Charlie blushed a little. "Sorry…"

"Never mind," said Amita generously. Then she remembered something. "Charlie… when you arrived here and saw me, what was it you were saying over and over again under your breath? I'm not sure I heard you correctly…"

Charlie looked at her earnestly, traced her lips with his thumb and kissed her once again. The kiss lasted for quite some time, and Amita felt herself becoming lost in him. Through the hassle and chaos inside her, she felt the surge of endorphins, making her belly flip.

"Something I realized, too, and should have told you long ago," Charlie said softly when their lips had parted. "I love you."

xxxTHE ENDxxx