Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs.

Summary: Charlie never asked to be smarter than anyone.

A Casualty of the Bell Curve

"Mom-meeee," Charlie had groaned, widening his eyes to be as puppy like as possible. "I need he-ehhhlp."

Mom had lowered her magazine and glanced down at her nine-year-old son. "With what, sweetie?"

Charlie had held up a sheet of notebook paper and waved it frantically in the air. "My math homework."

Mom had sighed, something Charlie hadn't noticed just then but would remember later. "Honey, I don't know that I can help you with that."

"It's really easy," Charlie had exclaimed excitedly, then plopped down at Mom's feet. "You just have to look at the angles over here, then you can tell what angle x is because of the theorem which states…"

"Charlie," Mom had interrupted gently. "It seems that you already have it all worked out. What do you need me for?"

"Mister Jay," Charlie had pouted, referring to his personal math tutor. "He says I don't show my work enough. But I do it in my head!"

"Well, you tell Mister Jay," Mom had said, leaning forward conspiratorially, "that my little genius doesn't need to show his work if he doesn't want to."

"Maaaahhm," Charlie had moaned. "He says I have to. He says I can't think I'm special. I have to do it like everybody else. I don't think I'm ready for high school. He says I'm not."

"Well," Mom had huffed, leaning back a little and frowning. "I think I'll be having a bit of a talk with him. You are special, Charlie. You're the best little mathematician I've ever seen, and if Mister Jay is telling you to do it differently, well, he's just jealous."

"Of what? Mom," Charlie had said, sounding casual, "It's not like I'm smarter than him."

Mom had grinned. "Of course you are, Charlie! You're much smarter than him."

Charlie had raised his eyebrows. "He's a tutor, Mom."

"Well," she had boasted, "you're a prodigy."

"He knows more than me!"

"He's just learned more than you have, honey. You'll catch up in no time. Then," Mom had grinned wider, spreading her arms open, "college!"

But Charlie hadn't smiled. He had frowned up at Mom, confused. "But. I don't want to be smarter than Mister Jay."

Mom's smile had faltered a bit at that. "Why not, Charlie?"

"I… he's my teacher. I don't want to be smarter than my teacher."

"You're smarter than a lot of people, sweetie." Mom had leant down, collecting Charlie into her lap. "You're going to have to get used to that."

"I'm not smarter than a lot of people," Charlie had reasoned. "Just a few."

"Well, you're smarter than your teachers, that's for sure."

"Am I smarter than Don?" Charlie had cried suddenly, a bit of sparkle returning to his eyes.

Mom had laughed, hesitated for just a fraction of a second. "It's hard to say. You and your brother are good at different things."

"I'm smarter than Don," Charlie had declared, to himself, and broken into a smile.

"Charlie. Don't you dare go saying that to him."

Charlie had laughed. "I won't. Don't worry. But c'mon, that's two people I'm smarter than. There's no one else."

Charlie hadn't understood why, but there had been a worried look creasing Mom's pretty face. "You're smarter than all your teachers," she had repeated.

"That'll change in a few weeks, won't it?" Charlie had stated blandly. "High school. It'll be hard to keep up."

"Oh, honey," Mom had cooed. "You'll do brilliantly in high school, don't worry. I don't think that your teachers are going to be any smarter there. You'll be fine."

Charlie faltered a bit. "I'm not smarter than college professors."

"Well, we'll have to wait and see about that."

Charlie had paused, considering this for a long, silent moment. Then slowly, cautiously, he said, "I'm not smarter than you and Daddy."

Mom had seemed startled, but quickly recovered. "Oh, of course you are, Charlie! I don't understand half your homework, and I'm a grown-up."

"No," Charlie had argued. "You're much smarter than me, Mom. You know that. Don't tease."

"Charlie, sweetie." Mom had looked away, frowning again. "You're much, much smarter than me. Or Daddy. And that's a good thing."

Charlie had shuddered, no more smile left on his face, not even a shadow. "That's not true."

"Charlie?"

Charlie had shied away, nearly falling off her lap. "I'm not smarter than you. I'm not smarter than Daddy."

"Charlie? What's the mater?"

He had nearly broken out sobbing by then. "Don't say that, Mommy, don't say it!"

"It's a compliment! It's a good thing."

"No it's not!"

"Charlie, what is it?" Mom had cried, face tightening in alarm, trying to take Charlie back into her lap, cradle him to her chest. "What is it, honey?"

"I don't wanna…" he had whimpered, burying his face in her elbow and shaking. "I don't wanna be smarter than you! I don't wanna!"

"You've never had a problem being smart before," Mom had reasoned gently.

"Bu…" Charlie had hiccupped, "but… I don't wanna be smarter than you. You're my mommy. You're smarter than me."

And Mom had fallen silent then, like she couldn't think of anything to say to that.

Nearly ten years later the same tears were building behind his eyes as he babbled for anything intelligible to say. Larry's eyes looked over at him, proud, sincere, just as his mother's had been.

"I assure you, Charles," he said gently. "You are very much ready to teach. I think five degrees more than qualifies you, even at eighteen. Certainly more qualified than I, if it makes you feel better."

The burning feeling intensified and he looked away. This conversation was heading down a very familiar path, one he could vividly recall: fears spoken, tears calling, his mother's perfume in the dark, abandoned safety of her arm… "I dunno, Professor Fleinhardt…"

"Charles." Larry ducked in front of him so that Charlie had to look at him, like it or not. "You'll be fine. You are the most intellectually capable individual I know."

"Don't say that," Charlie protested, shaking his head, laughing nervously.

"But it's true."

"Don't say that!" Charlie snapped, glaring at his friend and mentor, whose eyes widened in surprise.

"Charles…"

"I never asked to be smarter than anyone."

"I was a compliment."

"I'm so tired of compliments!"

"Charles, what's wrong?"

"I just… I don't know. I just…"

"Charles," Larry murmured, taking a step back then moving forward again, hesitantly. "You're crying."

"I don't want…" Charlie mumbled. "I don't want to be smarter than you! Or my parents! Or anyone!"

"I think you need to uh, breathe deeply…."

"I never asked," Charlie whispered to himself, losing sight of Larry in the blur of tears, losing his balance as the noise in his ears roared, blocking out everything but his own words and the blood pounding in his head as he said, plainly, "I never asked to be the smart one."