disclaimer: i do not own numb3rs.

"Hey dad, how are you?" Charlie said, dragging his hand through his long hair. He pulled it back, tying it up.

Alan scrunched his nose, "You ever going to cut that hair... you look like one of those guys on MTV... metal Slasher..."

"Thrasher? no. I just... I dunno dad, I like it." Charlie put his books down and sighed. "I'm having difficulty in class."

Alan raised an eyebrow, "Difficulty in class? You don't have difficulty."

Charlie raised an eyebrow, "I have difficulties, they just aren't you know... like other people's."

Alan moved around the kitchen, "Like what? Anything you want to talk about?"

"You wouldn't understand." Charlie said dejectedly.

Alan shook his head. He had gone through Don's teenage phase just barely. Charlie, already a special child, would be a special breed of teenage angst. "Try me, charlie."

Charlie rolled his eyes, "Whatever. There's this girl in class-"

"Oooh is she nice? Good looking?"

"Dad! let me tell the story. You're so cheesy." Charlie said, rolling his eyes twice in less then a minute Alan had noted. Charlie continued, "There's this girl who convinced me to take an eighteenth century poetry class. I'm terrible at it. I want to drop it."

"Poetry? Not enough math for you?" Alan said.

"well, I find some patterns in terms of poetry and such. For instance, in Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Byron uses the term 'rapture' 23 times, which happens to be a prime number."

"You know, i like that about you. you take your numbers and apply it to everything. But you know, most people read Byron for his beautiful poetry and sarcastic wit." alan pointed out.

"But I don't really care about his sarcastic wit. Although, his daughter actually set out the building blocks for computers... Ada Lovelace. In fact, thats why we call it the ADA language." Charlie pointed out.

"So can you keep up? I mean, I know you've had three years at college so far. And you're overworked with the triple major and honors society, but maybe it's too much. Perhaps you shouldn't over work yourself."

Charlie rested his head on his crossed arms. "Dad... I'm not overworked. You worry too much. I'm fine. You sound like mom you know?"

"Hey buddy, you're the one having difficulties. My job is to look out for you."

"I can look out for myself, you know. Now you sound like you're Don. He had the over protective family member thing down to an art." charlie complained.

"Speaking of which, Don is coming home tomorrow."

Charlie's eyes sparked up but he tucked a stray curl behind his ear, "So?"

Alan shook his head, "I thought you liked Donnie?"

"Course I like him, he's my brother."

"But you're upset by him?"

"Hey, he's the one who doesn't want anything to do with this family, not me." charlie grabbed an apple from the table, taking a bite, "I mean, I get it. I understand why he doesn't want to be here."

Alan placed both hands on the table, looking at his youngest son, "Why do you think Donnie doesn't like us. He calls us all the time. Personally, I think college has been scary for him and with finals coming up and senior year looming, he's a little nervous."

Charlie paused for a second, and then covered it up. Alan saw the flash of hurt in his younger son's eyes. "Donnie's really busy. He asks about you all the time. With the baseball and the degree..."

"He's jealous. He's always jealous. It's not my fault that I started college with 18 credits already. I mean, what does he want? I'll be sure to get hit by his precious baseball... maybe brain damage will stop me from being a freak." charlie bit out.

"Charlie!" Margaret said from the doorway, "You are not a freak. Come help with dinner. I need you to read me the recipe so i can memorize it."

Alan looked at his wife. "what do you mean so you can memorize it? I think Charlie should talk about this. He thinks Donnie hates him."

"I know he does, but Charlie reads the recipe and its like he's teaching me. It's the only way I can memorize things. He's a good teacher." Margaret moved to her youngest and wiggled his pony tail. Charlie squirmed out of the way, "Besides, He hasn't finished telling me about his thesis."

alan watched as Charlie stopped rolling his eyes, and brooding, and stood up to help his mom with the ingredients. Alan was always closer to Donnie, knowing that Charlie only responded to margaret. She got him. She had always understood him. "Well in between the legorithms and the numbers, why don't you talk about this poetry class?"

"They're called logoriths dad, and I hate poetry."

"whatever for? Alan used to read me poetry, didn't you know? Love poetry by Pablo Neruda... Alan would read it in spanish, and then the translation. it was so romantic."

"Mom... i don't want to hear that stuff. it's gross."

Margaret chuckled, "It's not gross, it's sweet. what's the trouble in poetry."

"Well we've got to memorize this poem."

Alan laughed, "charlie, you still know our bank account numbers from 1983. We don't even use that bank anymore."

Charlie grinned, "Yeah, but i've got to find a meaning within the words. I mean, give me a set of statistics and a chalkboard, I can predict probable outcomes, but give me Dickenson... Yet when a Boy, and Barefoot-

I more than once at Noon

Have passed, I thought, a Whip lash

Unbraiding in the Sun...

I have no idea!"

Alan grinned, "A narrow fellow in the grass..."

Charlie threw his hands up, "See! Everyone else can do this, but i can't! The sun cannot braid itself, and even if it could, i don't know what that would look like. You can't technically see sunlight, you merely see how an object's particles react towards it."

"It's about a snake in the grass." Margaret said, "The whip lash... it's about having extreme excitement about the outside world and then being frightened by it at the same time."

"How fitting. I excell at everything they throw at me, and now I'm scared that I'm not smart enough. What if I fail?" Charlie said.

"You won't fail. Do you need the course?"

"No."

"Do you think you can pass? If you study really hard and attend every course?" Margaret asked.

"No. I mean, I like some of the poetry. Rhyming poetry, or poetry with some semplance of patterns are good, but other than that, i can't get it. In math, there are no illusions. You have a problem and an answer. I mean, minus the hailstone sequence and reimann's theory... those don't have answers yet, but you get it, right? Do you guys understand?"

Margaret laughed again, "Yeah, us guys get it."

Charlie smiled, "you know what I mean."

"Yes, Charlie, I do know what you mean. make the decision. It'd be a shame to ruin that four point zero, but poetry is vital to life. It gives joy and pain and triumph and failure a single place to blend and meet. To coexist. One day you'll be reciting poetry to some girl. You're going to woo her, marry... give me some grandkids."

Charlie rolled his eyes, "i'm not interested in getting married and having kids. Besides, no one wants to marry a fre-"

"Charles." Margaret warned, "Stop calling yourself that. It's not true."

"Hey Why so serious?" Don said, stepping in, baseball cap skewed, torn jeans and a duffel bag over his shoulder.

Alan and Margaret were both surprised, while Charlie looked at his apple. after much hugging, Don walked over and ruffled Charlie's hair, "what's up freak, how're your numbers?"

Charlie moved away from Don's hand and said, "Stop that. math is fine."

Don laughed, not catching Charlie's flash of eyes and margaret's disapproving glare. Alan finished making his sandwich, "Charlie is taking a poetry class and is having some difficulty."

"Oh my mensa brother finally is having some trouble. I guess there really is a God." don remarked.

"Be nice, Donald." Margaret said.

"Charlie, its just poetry. It's easy and girls really like it."

"You and everyone else. What is this about getting me a girlfriend? are you so excited to pass my freak genes on to some kid?" Charlie exclaimed.

Don laughed, "Charlie, if your brains were hereditary, you wouldn't be a freak. Besides, sometimes your math comes in handy."

Charlie looked at Don, raising an eyebrow, "Name one instance you haven't hated me for it."

Margaret was about to speak, when Alan held her back. He knew his sons had to sort their problems on their own, without Margaret's constant need to coddle Charlie. Alan knew that Charlie needed to be protected, especially with his gifts, but it shouldn't be at the exclusion of his Donnie. Don paused and looked at Charlie, "I've never hated you. I hate the side affects. You don't see them that often. For instance, I constantly had to save your ass every day in highschool."

"So happy that people beating the crap out of me was my fault." Charlie said, standing up and leaving.

Donnie called after him, "A simple thank you would suffice."

Alan sighed and Margaret frowned, "Donald, that wasn't fair."

"He knows nothing of the real life. Nothing. He'll get back to Princeton and be surrounded by his academia. While I'm here in this house, I'd like him to have some semblance of a normal life."

"Well perhaps being nicer to him as you try to introduce him to the real world." Margaret noted.

"Your mother's right, Donnie, Charlie is different then the rest of the world." Alan said, "There aren't many with his gifts."

"He's got two legs, good health. He's funny and nice... most of the time. He's normal, and I think he's so fragile because you don't let him do anything. I bet one day in my shoes and he'd come home crying." don said, crossing his arms.

Alan shook his head, "I wouldn't be so sure. Charlie would probably confuse any of your meathead baseball friends and run away. He bikes every day, did you hear that? Margaret was telling me. He probably is a fast runner."

"at least I'm better at spelling." Don said, taking on Charlie's same dejected tone from earlier.

MArgaret sighed, "perhaps you should go visit him and apologize. He looks up to you, you know. I know we treat him differently but we love you both the same."

Don rolled his eyes, "See? Coddling."

Don walked to charlie's room. He knocked once and Charlie didn't answer. Don sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Charlie, lets go for a drive, buddy. I'm sorry I sounded harsh."

Charlie poked his head out, "Well... uh... why?"

"Truthfully? Cuz Mom wants me to. Listen, I don't hate you, and you should know that, i just... everyone treats you like you're a baby, and you're not."

Charlie crossed his arms, "I know that. I don't deserve to be treated like I'm worthless either. I can do a lot with what I study. I can take mathematics and apply it to real life."

"You haven't had a real life to quantify."

Charlie smirked. Don sighed, "I know what quantify means. I'm in college too, you know. I don't know what I did to deserve a smart aleck like you."

Charlie shook his head, "I've got to work on some problems. You should go see mom and dad. I've been here for a week already."

Don nodded, "So are we good?"

Charlie nodded, knowing that was what Donnie wanted, to be forgiven, "we're good."

Don smiled and walked downstairs, confidently pleased with himself. Charlie watched after him, wishing he was equally confident. He then turned and returned to his numbers. His family would never understand him. He was different. Mom and Dad always said so, and Don hated it. Charlie sighed and cracked open a book. At least he had math.