Acknowledgements:
Omi as always
The BTN8rs - with apologies
The Numb3rs dot org crew - since I did the whole alphabet inspired by their challenge
Disclaimers:
"A vague disclaimer is nobody's friend" - Willow, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
I do not own any Numb3rs characters nor do I have any rights to
anything related to the TV show Numb3rs. I plead fair use and claim
only my own writing and characters.
"Dad... I love you."
Alan rolled his eyes. "Charlie, we need to get you to bed. Come on, out of the car."
Charlie put on his best pout. "You don't love me. You're so mean." He crossed his arms on his chest and stuck his lower lip out. "I'm staying right here. I don't want to go in the house with you."
"For crying out loud! Margaret!"
Margaret came out of the house and stood staring at her son and husband. "I've got his ice bag ready, why isn't he out of the car yet?"
"Your son," Alan huffed, "won't get out of the car because he thinks I don't love him and I'm mean."
Margaret let out a frustrated sigh. "He's on drugs! The poor boy just had his wisdom teeth removed! Really, Alan!" She walked over to the car and caressed one of Charlie's swollen cheeks. "How's my baby doing?" she said sweetly.
"I love you, Mom," Charlie mumbled.
"I love you too, honey. Why don't we get you upstairs and in bed so you can relax, okay?"
"Dad doesn't love me," Charlie said miserably. "He doesn't love me. He wishes I was like Don and not a freak."
"Charlie!" Alan cried in protest, stilling only as Margaret put up a hand to quiet him.
"Sweetie," she said softly. "Your father loves you very much. It's just easier for him to show it to Don than to you. You're a smart boy, you can understand that, can't you?"
"Yeah, I guess," Charlie said sadly. "It's just hard to watch."
Margaret furrowed her brow and asked. "Watch what? What does your father do?"
"After a game, Dad takes off Don's cap and messes up his hair. He tells him he did a good job."
"Honey, your father is very proud of you too. He tells you you do good all the time."
"Yeah," Charlie bit back a sob. "But he never messes up my hair."
Margaret had to step back to avoid laughing and pulled Alan far enough away that they could talk without Charlie overhearing.
"Your son..." Alan started, shaking his head.
"Is a very sensitive boy," Margaret interrupted him. "And apparently you not messing up his hair is messing with his head."
Alan fought to contain his laughter. "I swear I'll try to be a better father by messing up my youngest son's hair just as often as I mess up my eldest son's hair." He said it in a mock serious tone, but couldn't help but chuckle at the end.
Margaret glanced back at Charlie whose eyes were drooping.
"He's so loopy there's no way he's going to remember this conversation."
"So we don't remind him?"
Margaret shook her head. "Just wait a couple of days before you start messing up his hair. I want him to think you're doing it on your own.
Alan nodded. "I never understood what goes on in that head of his. I'm glad you do."
Margaret laughed. "Hey, I'm doing the best I can! For now, let's just tell him what he needs to hear and get him into bed. He needs to rest."
Charlie was so out of it when they returned, they both had to half carry him to his room.
Alan took off his shoes and Margaret tucked him into bed. She leaned down and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
"Love you, Mom," he muttered.
"Love you too, Charlie."
As Margaret moved to leave, Alan reached over and gently mussed Charlie's curls.
"Love you, Dad."
Alan smiled down at him, watching his eyes slowly flutter closed.
"Love you too, Son."