— The story and any possible original characters are mine. Numb3rs, its own characters and canon aren't. —
I did this for NCIS and figured I'll make one for Numb3rs as well. The one shots have nothing to do with one another. First story is post-series with our dear brothers.
Leo
The taxi driver barely waited long enough for him to take two steps away when it was already screeching from the driveway. Don sighed wearily as he opened the front door and immediately he smelled familiar odor in the house. He walked with a slight limp, but he refused to let something like that stop him getting to places. He grinned at the scene that welcomed him. If Charlie didn't get the place all cleaned up before their wives returned from their spa trip, he was going to be in so much trouble.
"Hey, buddy." Don ruffled the dark curls as he walked by the artist who lay on the floor painting—Don had to squint his eyes slightly to see more clearly—numbers on a big white paper. Some things never changed, he mused and shook his head fondly.
The child looked up with bright eyes. "Uncle Donnie!"
Great uncle, Don added in his mind and then he almost cringed at the reminder of his own advanced age. "Yeah, kiddo. What are you doing?"
"I'm painting," the child stated the obvious and looked at his great uncle with a face that was the spitting image of grampa Charlie at that age. Don felt sharp pang of longing and regrets, but he pushed it away. Regrets got you nowhere at his age, only heartache. "I'm painting numbers so grampa can put it up on his wall."
"Ah." Don smiled slightly. Although there had been no other geniuses in the Eppes clan after Charlie, it was hardly a surprise that in Charlie's side of the family math had always played a huge part. Worse yet, their—Amita and Charlie—kids enjoyed math. Charlie had tried to, and almost succeeded, even taking Don's kids down that road, but they hadn't been quite as enthusiastic about it as their cousins were. Don had been rather sad because of it, much to his own surprise. "Where is your grampa?"
"Grampa is foodling."
Clearly the Webster's dictionary still wasn't popular in this household either. Don covered his snort with a cough. "Right. I'll go see what he's up to then."
The child went back to painting, soon forgetting about rest of the world again.
As told, Don found his brother cooking in the kitchen. Well, attempting anyway. Charlie stood in front of the oven with a look on his face that indicated he was going over some complex math in his head. Probably trying to figure out what went wrong and find the logic behind it. Or something. Don still had trouble fully understanding how his brother's big brain worked.
"Did you burn something?" Don looked at the mostly black rice on the counter and he wondered if the big bowl was even meant to be put in the oven. At least it wasn't plastic.
"The oven is broken."
"Uh-huh," Don hummed. The oven was barely two years old and while it was quite possible for his brother to break the oven during that time, easily, but this was probably one of the few times he even bothered with cooking. Even now, Charlie still got too easily lost in his numbers and forgot to eat if someone didn't keep an eye on him and at times practically force feeding him while his mind wasn't there. Don had become quite the master of it during the years. He eyed the too slim—and frail—figure in front of him disapprovingly. He hated to admit it, but neither of them was getting any younger and it scared him to think about losing his brother to something like starvation.
"Done with the inspection?" Charlie questioned with a raised brow. "Where's your cane?"
"Don't need it," Don muttered mulishly. Robin was already nagging about it enough as it was, he didn't need his brother to join in.
"Either get your cane or sit down. Your spare one is still where you hid it last time. I'd say do both, but I know you."
Don ignored him and poked his finger in the still hot rice.
"I miss dad," Charlie whispered quietly and out of nowhere. They spent few long seconds thinking about their dear old dad who hadn't lived to be quite as old as they now were. Not even long enough to see all his grandchildren. Still, it was something at least that the old man got to enjoy the joys of being a grandfather for as long as he did.
"And his cooking, I bet," Don added with a layer of sadness over his amusement.
Charlie shot him a glare. "Yes. And his cooking. Happy?"
When it became obvious that Don's leg was truly starting to bother him again, Charlie moved them both to sit around the dinner table, with the rice, where something resembling a chicken was already waiting, which had been probably meant to go with the rice. It was dry and required a full glass of water to be nearby, but at least it was edible.
"I'm not sure whether to be relieved that a genius has such major gaping holes in his basic survival skills or to be horrified he's going to one day kill himself."
"Like you're the master chef. I know the basics," Charlie defended himself. He'd simply been distracted by his numbers as usual, and then his grandkid. "That's all I need."
Don smirked. Yeah, that'd be the day when Charlie didn't wander off somewhere far into the depths of his mind. Especially when the older he became, the more often it happened. Don worried about it sometimes.
Desperate to change the direction of their conversation, namely his culinary skills, Charlie set the bear on the table again, "Your cane, Don, where is it?"
"Don't know. Somewhere, I guess." Don looked at his glass of water. "You stocked up with any beer? Robin has put me on a no beer diet."
"Not since before Amita took off after another epic argument. Threw away all our beer or took them with her. I'm not sure which."
Don frowned. That had been getting worse lately; the relationship and arguments. Charlie didn't talk about it, but he'd noticed the couple didn't share the bed anymore. "What's going on with her anyway?" With you two.
"Overall? I can't even begin to guess. Last time? Amita was a little mad at me because she thinks she looks older than I, which is ridiculous. She's beautiful. Meanwhile I've shrunk even more. At the rate I'm going, I'll be soon the size of a thumb. Be glad, you're the one who got the beauty genes in our family." Charlie took a spoon and tasted some of the rice and shrugged. It wasn't so bad after all. There was still some not entirely black rice underneath the layer. "That's why she left, you know. To get some space from me while she's out there with some younger guys probably giving her massages."
Don wisely didn't mention that while yes, still beautiful, Amita did look older. It wasn't that he didn't age, he did, but even now Charlie had a head full of dark curls with only some gray here and there—usually covered in chalk dust anyway—and he could even now easily pass as someone ten years younger than he was. So perhaps Don too was a little envious, with his own recent self esteem issues mostly brought out by his leg. At least with his wife the two had grown closer instead of apart. "It's not usually what they show on TV. Probably the one massaging is some old woman with ice cold hands and who barely even smiles. I should know."
"Newsflash, Donald, but that was Robin's doing. She made sure they kept the beautiful ladies away from her husband, whom she still loves by the way. Probably threatened to sue someone or something. Can't say the same about my own wife."
"She did what?" Don sputtered as he could still remember his last birthday and the day at the spa with his wife. That old hag massaging him had the most unpleasant hands he'd ever been near. "I'm sure Amita just needed to get out for a while. She's hardly going to dump you now, is she? I mean, you two have been together for so many years."
Charlie sighed. "I don't know, Don. Sometimes... I guess some people grow apart and I'm afraid that's happened to us for a long time now. It just wasn't so obvious before. With all the kids gone, she's just now realizing I'm maybe not the guy she thought she married." He scooped more rice and munched it gloomily.
"Charlie. She knew exactly who she was marrying," Don said wryly and he took his own spoon. At least if the black rice killed them, they'd go together. Somehow he didn't find the thought too upsetting. Not the dying part, but going together. Sappy. And would probably make their wives jealous. Or wife? Don wondered about Amita and what really was the problem. She was too smart to throw such drama over some age crisis if that's what it was.
"Make a sandwich, Donald. This isn't good for you," Charlie said and he pushed the other spoon away. They ended up in a short sword fighting with their spoons. "And what if she didn't know? What if she decides our life isn't good enough for her? What if..." Charlie's voice broke, which broke Don's heart. "What if she wants a divorce? I don't think I know how to be alone anymore. I'm not sure how I'd be alone."
"You're forgetting something, Chuck." Don ignored Charlie's patented 'don't call me Chuck'. "You've got a big family now." You've got me, was the obvious one, but didn't need to be said, anymore. Their relationship was not what it used to be, in every good way. They'd never been closer, despite not working together since many years ago now. "What about a certain curly haired kid there in the other room? Kid thinks you hung the moon and the stars."
Charlie brightened at the mention of his grandson. "Yeah... And soon you're going to share the joys of grandfatherhood with me."
"Two months left." Much like Alan, Don had to wait a long while to be a grandfather. Mostly it was because both he and Robin had been a little too dedicated on their demanding careers and had waited much too long to start a family of their own. And much like they, their kids were rather career oriented also. Hence why first grandchild was on the way now.
"Did you ever wonder about where we would end up?"
Don didn't say that with his job he never even thought he'd live out half of his adult life. "Sometimes, only somehow I always figured dad would still be around. Probably outlive all of us. He was always such a constant thing, always there, you know. At least he went happy."
Charlie hummed. "I always figured I'd die alone. Never marry, never have any kids, much less get to see theirs. I'd die in front of a blackboard as an old professor and that's it."
"Life's been good."
The brothers smiled. Yes, life had been very good. Not counting those not so good moments, like losing people they loved and cared about, nearly dying few times or Don receiving his now infamous injury in his leg, which they didn't talk about. However, selfishly they were both glad they hadn't lost each other. After so many years of trying to find the right balance and learn to understand each other, they got to a point where to lose the other would be unbearable to even think about. Don knew his wife had grown to both understand and accept it, but he had a feeling that Amita was perhaps holding some jealousy toward him. It made him feel guilty, but not guilty enough. True, the brothers had a special spot in their hearts where no one else could even get near, but it didn't mean they didn't love anyone else, truly, and show that care.
Don couldn't speak for his brother—although he suspected—but his love for his brother had been strengthened through many hails and brimstones. It didn't come easy. It had been much easier to fall in love with a woman and marry one. But much as they loved their wives, that love was romantic. It couldn't begin to compare to the bond between two brothers. It wasn't always so, but Don was happy to admit that his brother wasn't only his brother by blood. They were true brothers. His brother was his best friend.
"You know I love you, bro?"
As always, Charlie looked so utterly pleased it would be ridiculous if Don didn't know he had the same exact look on his own face. "And I you, bro."
Even if—God forbid—everyone else would die tomorrow, so long as they still had each other, they could survive their remaining days and not be entirely consumed by grief. Things weren't always so, but it was good to have it now. Better late than never indeed. Although, thankfully, it hadn't been so late for them after all.
The End