It's not that he doesn't miss Mattie, because he does, more than he's missed almost anyone in his entire life.
He misses her with a familiar kind of ache, the kind that developed in his chest the morning of his seventh birthday, when he came home from school and found his father's shoes missing from the front hall. The kind of ache that came home to roost the day his mother gets a telegram on stiff yellow card, the sort that doesn't quite form into enough of a ball to bounce when it hits the hallway hardwood, no matter how hard she squeezed it.
He always thought it was the kind of ache that came from not getting the chance to tell someone goodbye. Except he did get to say goodbye this time, for all that it was swift and sudden and he'd barely been back from attempting to manage his three nearly grown brothers for his mum while she and her latest husband were on vacation, his ribs aching in time with his throbbing head, which was full to the brim with attempts to figure out how exactly he could convince the Doc that no, he really did have a good time, and yes he really had gotten lots of rest, when Mattie burst into his room, door swinging in the breeze of her trembling excitement, clutching a printed job offer like it was made of solid gold leaf.
Charlie is never sure how he mustered up enough energy to get excited for her, let alone stumble into work the next day, but he personally thinks he's doing a fairly good job of pretending everything is just fine thanks, right up until some lovesick boy literally blows right through his best laid plans.
And of course that's how he had to meet the new Super, hunched painfully against a rickety wall, desperately attempting to not sound like he's gasping for air, Blake hovering securely at his side like a suit clad mother hen. And damn if the Doc's quietly murmured "Easy there Charlie, take your time, there's a good lad" doesn't remind him of how good it is to be home again, new Super and all.
And damn if that isn't what breaks his heart anew, coming home that night to a somehow smaller and quieter house than the one he left barely half a day earlier, his police blazer falling from numb fingers onto the kitchen floor in the face of the Doc's quietly devastated expression, his eyes beginning to well even as his chest hollows out as reality sinks in.
As he remembers that all the goodbyes in the world will never make up for the ache that one feels when that person is suddenly just gone.
CC
Charlie doesn't really remember what it was like to be an only child. His first younger brother entered the picture sometime before his eighth birthday, the other two following with five years of each other, making it hard to do much in the ensuing years except figure out ways to look after everyone, even including himself if he's really lucky sometimes.
Those earliest memories come slipping back in thick and silver quick after Mattie leaves for England. Charlie finds himself nearly bursting into cruel laughter at the irony that first evening as Blake wraps another rug securely around his aching shoulders, hands carefully hovering just above his rather tender ribcage. Jean takes the opportunity to gamely place the last of the new potatoes on his already overstuffed plate. "I made them just the way you like them Charlie" floats into the air like a warm puff of homey air, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, and not as new a development as the buds on the new spring blooms in the plant boxes outside the Doc's study. Apparently Adelaide thawed the last of Jean's reserved reticence towards Charlie better than his mother's roast recipes ever did.
Charlie suddenly wishes more than anything that Mattie would turn her taxi around, just so she could explain to him when Mrs. Beazley turned into Jean, and why she suddenly seems to like him.
Or why the Doc is looking at him like he's more rare than that vintage bottle of scotch the Boss snuck to him at Christmas when Charlie was pretending not to be spying for Mrs. Beazley.
Or why his eyes suddenly feel strangely wet, without a single onion in sight.
CC
Charlie has always enjoyed being the eldest, enjoyed the responsibility that comes with ensuring everyone is safe and warm and fed. That's what he's told every teacher, officer, landlady, and school friends parent who's ever bothered to ask anything remotely personal about the only truly Davis boy of the Davis lot.
He's been in Ballarat for all of six months, and under Blake's roof for all of three or so before he finally realizes being the eldest here isn't exactly going to fly.
He almost succeeded in falling into old patterns right around the time Jack Beazley ran through their lives, and then Blake came along with his raised eyebrows and concerned, too noticing glances and blew the whole thing to pieces again.
Charlie isn't even sure if he and Mattie really had enough time to slot into any form of pattern in their little thrown together somewhat family before the Doc ran out the door to catch a bus, the one time anything remotely familiar happened in that environment following a predictable pattern right up until Blake stopped Charlie before he managed to cut his feet open on smashed pottery and abruptly stopped echoing his own mother even the slightest bit.
Charlie's never had an older sister before, and for all that Mattie was nearly three years his junior, he's starting to suspect that he misses it more than a little.
CC
Lucien makes both their lunches now, strangely adept at making it to the kitchen before Jean so much as slices into a bread loaf. Charlie's not sure what to make of this phenomenon the first few times it happens, but three aborted attempts to intervene in the sandwich making process in he looks up from the ham in time to catch the slightly please smile Jean shoots Lucien's way when they think Charlie isn't looking, and he finds himself sighing slightly and wordlessly handing the Doc the tomatoes.
Blake's cooking is a lot better than Charlie's stepfather ever managed, which isn't actually saying much, but at least he's still alive for it to be completely worth it when he looks up three weeks into the sandwich making affair in time to catch Jean and Lucien sneaking a quick peck on the lips behinds the lettuce leaves.
He waits until week four to slip in a deadpan "congratulations", somehow catching himself just before he turns his head to the right in a conspiratorial grin and the looks of gobsmacked astonishment that great his words.
The hug Jean gives him moments later is slightly tighter and slightly longer than either of them were probably expecting, but nobody says anything.
And if Charlie's breath hitches just a touch when warm, jumper soft arms encircle their shoulders with equal intensity, well nobody mentions that either.
CC
Mattie's first letter arrives a month after she leaves, the words as glowing as the paper is white.
Charlie makes lunch that afternoon, sandwiches with just the right amount of everything. Lucien holds Jean's hand through the whole meal, casually slinging an arm around Charlie's shoulders between chews.
He finds the Doc in the study after, car keys clutched delicately in his right hand. His words come out a lot more anxious than he intended.
"Can we go for a spin Doc?"
And if his c's sound strangely like d's at the end of that sentence, well, nobody says anything about that either.
CC
Charlie rights to Mattie every week, like clockwork. He asks how she is, tells her how they all are.
He says they miss her. He says they're doing fine. He says they love her.
He says be happy. He hopes she knows he means it, from the bottom of his heart.
He hopes she knows he is too.