— The story and any possible original characters are mine. NUMB3RS, its own characters and canon aren't. —
My first Numb3rs story and hopefully not last.
Leo
It was in the middle of the night when Charlie opened the door, moving as quietly as he could. The silence scared him and for a moment he feared that while he'd been gone, it had finally happened; his mother was dead. Glancing over his shoulder, he almost went back in the garage, but he needed to see his mother. Just once. Maybe she was doing better or maybe time had turned his memories into something much worse than what they really were. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep walking. He was already hanging on to a very small thread of sanity and he didn't know what he'd do without her.
As it was, he was one step away from losing it completely. Being a genius was both a blessing and a curse. The double-edged sword. And the coin always had two sides, which was something most people seemed to forget or even ignore, being willingly ignorant. The world to him was an endless flow of numbers and equations. Beautiful, wondrous and sometimes a little scary. Even his dreams were filled with numbers one way or another, now more than ever. He couldn't even begin to imagine a life without the numbers. Just like others couldn't even begin to imagine what the world looked like through his eyes. His numbers were both his anchor to sanity and the doorway to insanity. Until now his mother had been that separating line between the two. She was his strength and his safe place. Only his mother understood or came close to understanding the way his mind worked. With her gone, who else would?
It wasn't that Charlie could really hold it against them, and he didn't, but his father and brother didn't understand. He couldn't just suddenly start behaving like the 'normal' people would. He wasn't wired that way. He didn't want to be away from his mother, but after all this time and the long hard battle behind them, he couldn't do it anymore. The shock of losing the one constant thing in his life was too much, even before it happened. He wasn't strong enough. For the longest time Charlie had been there with his father, helping and being strong; done his very best and acting brave. Even going through those endless treatments, which didn't help at all and only made things worse and her last moments so much more agonizing. It had been traumatizing for both Alan and Charlie. Maybe even worse than her actually dying was, because it meant that despite all that suffering, she was still dying. All that agony for nothing. Still, Charlie had tried to keep believing they could beat this.
It was during this last stage, when it finally became too much. The burden from all those long days—months—and still the doctors told them that she was dying. It all finally came crashing down on Charlie and he'd never recovered, which of course was during the time when Don came home and only saw him as someone who had simply abandoned them all without a care. Since then, something inside him shattered and his mind did what it could do best; seek comfort and answers from the numbers. And Charlie was lost, unable to find the strength to find his way out.
The answer had to be somewhere in his numbers, something that could fix it all. If he couldn't do it, then who else could? He was the genius, the one who was supposed to be doing great things in his life. If this wasn't it, then for what reason was his 'gift'?
He didn't know whether she was mad at him or was she okay with not seeing the son she had spent all that time with, raising him to be something great. All those big dreams and plans she'd had for him since he was barely a few years old. All planned out for him and now she was never going to be there for any of them. For what reason had he given up normal childhood and family life, if she wouldn't be there guiding his way? She'd always been there pointing him to the right direction, just like she had done his entire life. For what reason had they all made sacrifices?
Silently, like a shadow in the night, Charlie made it through the darkness toward the bedroom where his mother was. He almost changed his mind again, seeing his father sleeping there next to his wife. At least Don was sleeping in his own childhood bedroom. Charlie didn't think he could sneak past the FBI Agent. There was a small lamp giving some light in the room and Charlie was on the verge of tears when he finally saw his mother. She looked so much worse since the last time... When was it anyway? It could very well be centuries ago for all he knew. It certainly felt like it. It was ironic that while the numbers where everything he was, he had completely lost his sense of time.
"Charlie?" He was startled by her voice, which sounded so weak and frail just like she looked, and yet she was still smiling at him. She was still being mom. His best friend, his only friend for most of his life, his guide and advisor. The one he always turned to whenever he was unsure of things other than the numbers. The one who always made sure he took care of himself. He couldn't deal with a life without her. It would be meaningless.
"Mom, I..." Charlie swallowed. "I thought you were sleeping."
Margaret frowned as she studied her youngest and she didn't like what she saw. Why hadn't Alan and Don told her? Of course she could see the 'why', but it still upset her. She had the right to know when one of her babies were not doing well. "Come here."
"Dad..." Charlie glanced at his father who was snoring next to her.
"Don't worry about your father... He's been awake for days... Nothing is going to wake him up now... Come."
At first he took few tentative steps, but when his mother held her arms toward him, he ran and fell on his knees next to the bed, weeping.
Margaret shed a few tears of her own as he kept brushing her fingers through those messy curls she loved so much; a little too messy right now. After a while even her willpower couldn't get her to move her hand anymore so she just held it there. Seeing the state her little genius was in, she felt fear. She had already made her peace with dying, but now... With her gone, who would look after Charlie? Who would make sure he didn't join her? Who would keep him safe? Who else knew how to bring him back, when he got lost in his own world? Who else would recognize the first warning signs and stop him before he got in too deep? She would be leaving behind a broken family and not for the first time she blamed herself for having done this to them, in order to fulfill her own desire to give Charlie the best education. Had she ever asked if he even wanted that life? She couldn't remember. She had made Charlie live a big part of his life without a father and Don without a mother; both of them without a brother, which was possibly the worst crime of all. She needed more time to fix things between her boys, but it was too late now.
"Oh, baby..." she whispered.
Charlie turned his head so that his cheek rested against the bed and his eyes stared brokenly at his mother. To think that he had started this journey full of hope, so sure that she would make it when the diagnosis first came and for a while even after the doctors gave her the death sentence in numbers. Numbers... Everything was always about numbers, so it felt only logical that the miracle that could save her would also be somewhere in the numbers and since he was the one with the gift, the ability to see that world, it was his responsibility to find the answer. He had to.
"Mom," he whispered in almost childlike voice, so lost and Margaret felt a whole new heartache fill her mother's heart.
"It'll be alright."
"I'm scared."
"I know, but you still have Donnie and dad."
"Not same."
"Charlie..." Margaret could see that her son was struggling. "Charlie, baby... It's okay... I understand."
"I'm so weak... I'm sorry, mom... You deserve better than..." Better than me, he almost said.
"Nonsense."
"It's true. Don is always so strong and I am... I'm such a..."
"You're a what?" Margaret spoke with that warning tone of voice her boys knew all too well. "Who stopped their entire life for my sake and came with me to every treatment? Who tried to find other treatments and gave me strength to keep fighting, when the doctors gave up..? You were very brave so don't let anyone tell you otherwise, even yourself... Now, do your mother a favor... Eat something and try to get some sleep."
Standing up, Charlie wrapped his arms around her frail body, hugging her. "I love you, mom... More than anything..."
"I love you too, baby..."
Giving a kiss on her forehead and with one last glance at the door, he left. Remembering her words, he made a sandwich in the kitchen and ate it in the darkness without any appetite. He might have as well been eating a piece of cardboard, with some more cardboard on top of it.
Back in the garage, Charlie was soon back in his own world, surrounded by his numbers. His comfort, friend and enemy; the only thing that made sense to him anymore. Numbers were all he had ever been his whole life. Some might say that the way he'd been raised, surrounded by the numbers on top of those in his head, had only made things worse. So now the numbers were the only thing he was comfortable with. His safety blanket and the only thing that had never let him down. Until now. Even the numbers couldn't save his mother, and somewhere deep down he knew it, but it didn't stop him from trying...
Margaret lay awake for a little while longer, fighting the sleep. She worried that Alan and Don would not understand and she had no idea how to explain their youngest to them. Perhaps she had made a mistake by taking it all on herself. Maybe if she had allowed Alan to take a bigger role in raising Charlie, he would have a better understanding how the mind of their genius worked. Maybe if she had let the brothers grow together more like normal brothers, they wouldn't now be complete strangers. Margaret felt deep regret and doubt over her many choices throughout her life, but it was now too late.
"Dear Lord... Give my boys strength, understanding and forgiveness... and comfort when I'm gone..."
"Charlie, mom is dying! How can you do this to her, to us?! We need you!" Don was screaming his voice hoarse, but as usual his words never got through the wall of numbers between him and his little brother who had dazed and feverish look in his eyes, never stopping writing down his equations. Those damned numbers that seemed to be having almost like some sort of devilish hold of his brother.
Covered in chalk dust and his clothes hanging loosely over his skin and bones body, it had been days since Charlie's secret timeout with their mother. Somehow seeing her in that state had made his own condition worse too.
"Charlie... Please..." Don felt like crying as he went back to pleading. Secretly he too wished to liberate himself from all of this, with alcohol or mind numbing work hours, but this... It was like watching a contest of who would drop dead first. Their mother or Charlie who was literally killing himself in the garage. Taking hold of the bony small shoulders—too small, Don found himself distantly thinking—he turned Charlie around and pushed him harshly against one of the blackboards, smearing the numbers against the back of Charlie's already chalk covered shirt. Shaking him, Don was screaming again, "How can you be so selfish!"
Charlie's glazed eyes kept looking frantically around the room, but not once looking at Don. The look in his eyes was almost half mad, but whatever it was he was never there with them. In this world. It scared Don just as much as it scared him to lose their mother.
"Look at me!" Trying without success to shake some sense into his brother, Don finally let go and watched in disgust as Charlie was back to writing as if nothing had happened. "Mom needs you. If she dies and you weren't there for her, is that what you want to live with for the rest of your life?" As if he was going to get an answer. Don shook his head again. "I don't care anymore. I'll wash my hands of you. I won't be there when you need a shoulder to cry on, Charlie. When that day comes, I hope you realize that you did it to yourself, that you made it happen."
Leaving the garage in fury, Don never heard the hitch in breath, or how the hand holding the chalk was trembling and hovering over the unfinished equation, too long for the man writing those numbers.
The day it finally happened, he knew it before anyone told him. It was like he could feel it in his body, like part of his heart and soul had been ripped away from him, making him feel incomplete and out of place and balance. Lost. Even the numbers hid in that moment when it finally hit him.
It was early in the morning and the sun had just started raising when Charlie finally put down the piece of chalk. His numbers had calmed down suddenly and instead pure dread started to fill him. He heard someone walking closer to the door with heavy steps, stopping and then obviously hesitating whether to come in or not.
Don't come in... Please don't... If you do, then I know for sure...
Slowly the door opened and Don entered the garage, clearly unsure how to be and what to say. He looked haggard and pale, as if he'd seen a ghost. He hadn't been in the garage since the time when his fury almost made him become violent against his own brother. He'd been too scared of his own temper mixed with worry and scared to see how much worse Charlie would look since the last time. He looked at his little brother who just stood there, staring at him with—finally—clear and pain stricken eyes. Don froze and he felt sick to his stomach, seeing how much more weight Charlie had lost again and he wondered how he was even standing. Should he be taken to a hospital? In a moment of anger Don wondered why their dad, who had been bringing Charlie something to eat and drink every day, hadn't told him how bad it was. He had a right to know.
"She's gone, isn't she?" Charlie spoke with a small voice and Don swallowed hard, not allowing himself to cry. He knew he had to be the strong one in this family. Despite his mother's 'it's okay to cry sometimes ' advice.
"A moment ago."
"Oh..." Charlie stared at Don and then at his chalk covered hands, as if unsure what to do with them. "I could feel it... The moment she was gone, it was as if she took me with her..." he spoke softly and looked at Don again, with wide eyes.
Don felt like someone had punched him in the gut, hoping Charlie wasn't thinking of doing anything stupid. That would be the death strike to this family. "Charlie... Buddy..."
"She left and now there's a hole in me. I feel... I don't..." Charlie furrowed his brows and looked at his hands again before looking Don in the eyes for the first time since... forever. Years. "She's gone, isn't she?" What little color there had been on Charlie's face, it was gone. He looked like a corpse standing there and the chalk dust covering his skin surely didn't help. He looked so much like their mother's dead body. The only difference was that he was still alive.
"Yes, buddy. She's gone..."
Charlie brushed his hand over his head and wavered. "Oh... Don? Do you think mom would like it if I'd show her what I've been working on? I always do."
"Buddy..."
"I made a huge progress and I'm so close to solving it. I have to show it to her." Saying that, Charlie turned around and started gathering his notebooks and papers, scattered all over the garage, all filled with numbers and equations he had copied from the blackboards. His shoulders were trembling and he refused to look at his brother again, but then Don was there and he had his arms around Charlie and no amount of struggling got him free from his big FBI brother. "I-I need to... need to make sure I ha-haven't missed anything."
Don closed his eyes for a few seconds and prayed for strength. "Mom is gone, Charlie. She's dead."
Charlie ignored the words and forced himself to focus on his numbers, but for some reason they were out of his reach and his mind was a mass of chaos. Like a bomb that was about to go off, or then it already had and this was the aftermath of it. "Let me go!" he snapped angrily and started struggling for real, but the arms around him didn't move. It didn't help that he'd been starving himself.
Don whispered things neither one of them was going to remember later as he forced his brother to sit down on the floor with him, trying to calm him and not once letting go.
"You can't do this! I-I have to... I..." Charlie was gasping for breath as the panic finally reached him with the reality and emotions he'd been running from all this time in that garage.
"Mom said..." Don's voice broke as he remembered her last words to them and the way life left her eyes, once so full of life. "She said she loves us, loves you. She didn't want to leave us, buddy, but it was her time..." Don felt sick for speaking out their mother's words. In reality he wanted to scream that it couldn't be her time and he felt so much regret for all that time he'd wasted by keeping his distance to his family, only returning by the time it was already too late, when the battle was already lost. As angry at his brother as Don was, he was much angrier at himself.
Charlie struggled until he went limp. For a terror filled moment Don though he had passed out or worse. Then after a moment of silence a low wailing filled the garage and in a few seconds the wailing was loud and heartbreaking. Still, Don only held him stronger in a grip that would leave bruises. While he still refused to cry, he needed this just as much as his brother did. That closeness. In a way his brother cried for both of them, because crying didn't come easy for Don. "It'll be alright..."
"No!"
"Just let it out." Don's voice was trembling and if possible, the wailing grew louder.
Inside the house, in their bedroom where she still lay, Alan heard it and he started crying again. To the very last breath, he had held on to the hope that maybe they would be granted a miracle. Charlie hadn't been the only one living in denial. While Alan had let everyone think that he had come to accept the situation, in reality he had never let go of hope. What was he going to do now, with her gone?
The day of the funeral was stormy, gray and rainy. It was perfect, as if heaven itself was angry with the world. The small group of people standing by the colorful grave took their time before joining the ones who had already left. The father and his two sons didn't even notice that they were getting soaked under the rain. At least it would hide any tears.
Despite the grimness of it all, Alan couldn't help but feel proud of his two sons. Don had proven just how strong he could be—maybe too strong, Margaret would say—acting more like the man of the house and holding them together when he—Alan—should have been there for his boys. As for Charlie... Their youngest had barely been strong enough to walk, let alone carry the coffin. Somehow he had pulled out some hidden strength from his thin weary form and had refused to let anyone take his place carrying his mother. He had succeeded and was now looking like he was about to pass out for the third time that day.
"Whoa..." Don took hold of his brother when he was starting to fall. Holding Charlie, he forced himself to ignore how small the younger man was and how he could most likely carry him around in his arms like he would carry a child, just as easily. His brother was one tiny step away from a hospital, to be fed through tubes and God knew what else. "Let's go home and get some food in you, buddy."
Charlie shuddered at the thought and allowed himself to be taken to their car.
Back at the Eppes home, once the brothers and their father finally made it home and after changing their clothes, they grudgingly spent time with their guests, all who wished to either shake their hands, hug or let them know how sorry they were for their loss. Empty words that didn't mean a thing for the three men, but they remained polite and even tried to join the conversations, without much success.
Much later, after the last guest had left, Alan stood in the living room, staring at the emptiness, looking lost and so much older than his actual age. Now that they finally had peace and quiet, he dreaded it.
"Dad?" Don spoke softly, but they both knew what he really was saying. Are you alright? Is there anything I can do?
"Donnie... Son, I... I'd like to be alone for some time..."
Don was worried, but didn't stop him when Alan slowly disappeared in 'their' bedroom, closing the door after him. Whatever was happening behind that door was private and Don wasn't going to intervene. They were all going to need times like these for a very long time. Each one of them was and would be grieving in their own way. Looking around the room he started slowly gathering up the empty glasses and paper plates in the house. In the kitchen, seeing his mother's photograph, Don finally burst into tears he'd kept so firmly locked away. Holding the picture, he slowly sat down on the floor, sobbing silently.
"Don?" The quiet voice startled Don and he looked up, seeing his brother staring at him with worried eyes.
"I'm okay, buddy." Don wiped the tears away discreetly, even though Charlie had obviously seen him crying.
"No, you're not. It's okay to cry."
Don swallowed hard, hearing his mother's words to him from his little brother. "Shut up. What do you know?" he snarled furiously. "You wasted her last moments in some fit of madness!"
Charlie flinched, but didn't say anything, accepting the anger. Instead he glanced around the kitchen, spotting what was left of the cake. He still wasn't hungry, but... "I know none of us ate anything. Maybe we could... get dad and then we could—"
"I'm not hungry!" Don exploded. Anger was an emotion he was much more comfortable with and it was easier to lash out instead of focusing on his own regrets and grief. "How can you even think about food right now! Three months, Charlie! You chose that little bubble of yours and left dad and I to deal with it! We needed you! She needed you! I needed you! I know you don't exactly know anything about the real world, but for once in your life you could have at least tried!" Looking up again and seeing the lost look his brother gave him, for some reason he got only angrier. "Say something! Or did you decide to lose the ability to speak as well?!"
"I'm sorry..." Charlie mumbled and left the room in a stumbling rush.
Hitting his head against the wall, Don sighed, feeling the anger leave him as quickly as it had come. Looking down at the photograph he was still holding, he cursed softly. Getting up, he went after his brother. When he saw Charlie, with tears on his face, he felt a stab of pain in his heart. Why did he keep taking it out on the one he loved the most? And yes, despite everything and the many years between the two of them, had it been his brother who died instead of their mother, Don knew this would be so much worse.
Charlie held the phone in his trembling hand as he talked to someone in a quiet voice, "I'm sorry for calling you like this... I really need some time to... Yeah... You would..? You are..? I'll... I'll get out then... Thank you..."
"You going somewhere, buddy?" Don questioned, startling Charlie who hit his back against the wall in fright. "Sorry." Don watched with a frown as Charlie picked up his coat and put it on without a word and not once looking him in the eyes. "Where are you going?"
"I'm going with a friend. I'll... Uh... I'll call dad later and let him know."
"How long?" Don cringed at the sound of his own voice. He sounded like a mother. Mother... "I mean, so I know when to get things ready. We could spend some time together, maybe talk and... eat that cake."
Charlie stared at his feet. "I'll call," he muttered and then he left the house without a backwards glance.
"Charlie!" Don rushed after him, but his brother was already gone, running outside in the pouring rain. Don barely got a glimpse of the car that had been waiting for Charlie, leaving him stare after the lights before the dark weather hid it from him. Worrying, but hoping that this friend would look after his brother—if not, he'd find a way to kick this friend's ass—Don went back inside and decided to clean up all the remainders of the funeral and guests.
By the time he was done, it was late. Alan was still in the bedroom and Charlie hadn't returned so Don found himself standing in that one room he had come to hate almost as much as the illness that took his mother from them. The garage looked like the storm from the outside had gone through it. All the blackboards were scattered around the room, mostly on the floor. Most of them had been broken and Don noticed a hammer laying over one of them. "Oh, buddy..." Don found himself wondering when had his brother managed to do that, without any of them noticing or hearing anything. Not to mention where did Charlie get the strength needed for this level of rage. Don's next action surprised him as he started cleaning up the room and even planning to buy new blackboards, knowing how much this room meant to his brother. Not understanding it, but right now that was all that mattered to him.
It took a month before Charlie returned. Other than one phone call for Alan and a mysterious text message from an unknown number—which was Charlie's mystery friend promising them to look after their youngest—they hadn't heard a word from him. He looked healthier, had even put on some weight and he was back to work few days later. The last few months remained a taboo subject for all three men for a long time.
Then the day came, when Don realized that his genius little brother's math was anything but useless and they started working and spending more time together. While there remained unsolved issues between the two of them for a long time, their relationship kept slowly growing. Slowly improving.
Every once in a while Alan found himself looking at the two of them and smiling. "You would be so proud of our boys now, Margaret..."
The End