Title: The Sound of Silence
Author: FraidyCat
Disclaimer: It is a far, far better (wo)man who owns the Brothers Eppes (et al).
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Chapter Nine: Occam's Razor
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Charlie's enthusiasm for flashcards seemed to wane as Friday wore on. First, Amita thought he was just tired. She had been able to input Colby's data and apply a search algorithim Charlie had written early-on in his consulting gig with the F.B.I. It had been applicable to several cases by now, and he had even applied for a patent. One of his long-range plans had been to package several such universal applications, specific to investigative work, and market them to law enforcement agencies. As Amita set the search for common denominators in motion, she got an idea of her own. Perhaps she and Larry could do that for Charlie. After all, it was his work, and his idea; they would just provide some sweat equity. It might be a way to generate another stream of income for Charlie.
She was careful to leave the program running on her laptop in the solarium, away from the main living area of the house, in which they had been studying. She knew it would be at least a few hours before results were in, and she didn't want to interrupt the time she had planned to spend with Charlie before her evening class. When he had seemed reticent, she had noted the tired furrow of his brow and let it go. He did not have to re-learn everything in the first week; she was more than happy to curl up next to him on the couch and watch one of Alan's old Alfred Hitchcock movies. When he began snoring a few minutes into the film, she had exchanged a grin with Don and decided she was right. He was just tired.
By noon on Saturday, she wasn't so sure.
She had arrived around 10 that morning to find the search completed. She spent a few minutes in the solarium, compiling the results and e-mailing a list of the most likely locations of the missing agent to Colby. With an undercover man down, all bets were off. Not only were Colby and Megan working that day, Don had gone in to help. The brotherhood that existed between agents was stronger than any real or perceived problems in their working relationship with each other. When one of them was in trouble, he could count on the others working night and day to get him out of it.
When she had powered down her laptop and joined Charlie in the dining room, he was poring over his own; researching alternate careers. He looked at her, sitting next to him, almost shyly, and wondered if he could work in landscaping. "Not design, probably," he clarified. "At least not at first. I'd need a lot of math for that, I think. But I could mow lawns and trim hedges right now!"
Amita smiled politely. "Of course you could," she agreed. "You know a lot about flowers, too."
He nodded seriously. "I used to help my Mom in the garden," he explained. "She used to have a great garden."
Amita's smile brightened as her eyebrows arched. "I wish I could have seen it. What you have now – especially around the koi pond – is beautiful. She had even more?"
"Oh, yes," Charlie assured her. "A lot of what you see now was started by Mom. Dad and I did the koi pond, and we add to that every year. Gardening was kind-of a family hobby, I guess."
"Did Don help?"
Charlie grinned. "In a manner of speaking. After he killed several hybrid roses, he agreed to stop playing baseball in the yard."
Amita laughed, and should have let it go at that. Instead, she added a last thought. "Of course, you'll be on medical leave for a while. By the time that's over, you can probably go back to CalSci."
To her utter surprise he frowned and slammed shut the lid of the laptop. "What if I can't?" he growled rather heatedly at the computer. He turned his face toward her but dropped his eyes from hers in the middle of his next sentence. "Is that the only thing that will make you happy?"
Stunned, Amita stammered over her answer. "Wh…what? N-no, Charlie. I thought you wanted….Alan told me he and Don were teaching you about addition, and you were insatiable! That's why I got the flashcards..."
Charlie sighed and reached out to touch the back of her hand where it laid on the table. He abstractly drew "figure 8s" over it with his index finger; even without his numbers, he was all about patterns. "I do want it back," he admitted, finally looking her in the eye, "but I'm beginning to worry about why."
She sat silently and waited for him to go on, holding his gaze. He dropped his eyes to her hand, again. "There's no guarantee about how much I can re-learn. What if I hit a wall at 5th grade, or even college-level…something….what do freshmen study?"
"Depends," she answered automatically. "It can range from algebra to trig to quantum physics."
He looked up again and shrugged. "So if I relearned algebra, could I do my old job?" Amita didn't answer and he smiled sadly. "I thought not. I remember some things, Amita."
"What?" she whispered.
He looked distantly at the wall on the other side of the dining room. "I remember that I was a genius, my whole life. I remember that it made me special, and I remember that it was the only thing that made me special. Now I wonder if I'm really desperate to have the numbers back, or just desperate. Maybe I can't live a normal life, without the accolades and the…groupies."
Amita bit back a sharp retort, stung at being labeled a groupie…if that was what just happened. She forced herself to think of how she would feel if something similar happened to her. She reached out and physically turned his head so that he was facing her again, and then she leaned in and kissed him. It was a kiss full of passion, and hunger, and promise, and when she pulled back they were both breathing a little harder. "Charlie," she finally said, "numbers are not what make you special. You are what make numbers special." He looked suddenly as if he was going to cry, so she hurried on. "If you do not teach again -- if you mow lawns for the rest of your life, you will make that special, too."
He looked away, swallowing hard. "How do you know?" he finally asked, his voice quiet.
"Because I know you," she answered immediately. "Your heart has always been so much bigger than even your genius. You feel everything so deeply."
He glanced quickly back. "But you love me because of my brain," he half-accused.
She started to shake her head, then paused; an action that caused Charlie to pale dramatically. Still, she said what she felt she had to. "Yes, I was attracted to your genius," she admitted. "But that's almost like Colby drooling over a hot flight attendant."
In spite of himself, Charlie smiled. "You may have to explain that a little."
She smiled back. "I'm just saying that as I got to know you, I discovered that there was so much more to you. I love how much you love your family, for instance. I admire and respect your sense of loyalty. Your acerbic wit and humor are definite high-scorers on the 'things I love about Charlie' scale." He reddened, and her smiled deepened to dimples. "And I admit it; I love that you have never once forgotten my birthday."
Alan came stomping down the stairs at that moment, carting a full laundry basket, and Charlie stood, after exchanging a final look with Amita. "Thank-you," he said quietly, and then he included his father in the conversation. "I'm pretty tired, today. If I sleep through lunch I'll get something later, okay?"
Alan furrowed his brow, concerned. "Aren't you feeling well? Should I call…"
Charlie held up a hand and interrupted, a trifle impatiently. "No, Dad, I'm just tired. I'm really tired." Alan knew his son wasn't kidding when he headed for the stairs and his bedroom, rather than just lying on the couch.
He waited until he heard Charlie's door close before he shifted the basket on his hip and looked at Amita. "Is everything all right, dear?"
She smiled tremulously, arms wrapped around herself as if she was cold. "I think maybe I've been pushing him too hard," she confessed. "I mean, it hasn't even been a week since the stroke, and last night we started on simple fractions…"
Alan wanted to reassure her – but he also wanted to protect his son. "Perhaps," he finally said kindly. When her face fell, he hurried on. "Or, it could be that he just feels badly about not being able to see Larry get his medal tonight. Or, he could really be tired." He attempted a grin. "It could be all of the above. Been a hell of a week, for all of us."
Amita nodded glumly and startled Alan so badly he nearly dropped the laundry basket. "No shit," she agreed.
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Charlie hesitated for a few minutes, but in the end he finally pressed speed-dial "4". Amita had moved to #1, Don had consequently slipped to #2, Alan was a constant at #3, and #4 was… "Hi, Larry," he smiled, when the physicist answered.
"Charles, dear friend!" the diminutive professor enthused. "I was so pleased to see your name displayed by my caller ID. I have wanted quite desperately to speak with you, but was reluctant to disturb your rest. Be assured, Megan provides frequent updates."
At first happy to hear his old friend's voice, now Charlie frowned. "Has she talked to you since yesterday?"
Confusion was apparent in Larry's voice. "We spoke last night, yes; it has become a habit to say 'good-night' to each other. Why?"
Charlie shrugged, even though Larry couldn't see him, and sighed. "I dunno. It's not like you're not going to find out."
There was a moment of silence, and then Larry mused in response. "Charles," he began, "I am reminded of Occam's Razor."
Charlie snorted into the phone. "And I am reminded how much I miss talking to you, Larry. Look, I just worked my way up to ½ of a whole; you may have to help me out on this."
Larry strayed from his original thought for a moment. "Fractions, dear boy? My goodness; I believe that's 3rd-grade-level work, already!"
"The razor?" Charlie prompted, unwilling to spend any more of his day discussing whole things that were cut into pieces – it hit too close to home.
"Ah. Yes," Larry responded. "Occam's Razor is one of the basic laws of physics; the one by which we measure all others, in fact. In short, it states that the simpler a theory is, the better."
Charlie suddenly became genuinely worried he would never get his reasoning skills back. "I don't understand," he admitted somewhat morosely.
He could hear the smile in Larry's voice. "A dear friend of mine nearly died this week, yet now he lives. My theory is very simple: one does not look a gift horse in the mouth. I treasure our friendship, Charles, and hope that it continues for many, many years. If your grasp upon the numbers is a little less firm, so be it. I desire only your presence in my life."
Tears sprang to the back of Charlie's eyes and he fought to keep them at bay. "Thank-you," he said quietly. "I…I love you too, Larry, and I wanted to congratulate you again on your award. I wish I could be there to see you receive it."
"I hope you don't mind," Larry responded, "but I tweaked the speech a tad. Millie has arranged to have a DVD made, so you and Amita can watch."
"I know," nodded Charlie. "That was really nice of her. How did you change the speech?"
"I added a dedication," answered Larry. "I am now accepting the medal – this award in recognition of teaching in the field of physics – on behalf of the best student I have ever had; a young man who went on to become my best friend, and a fine teacher in his own right."
"Larry…" Charlie was overwhelmed. "Larry, you don't have to do that."
"It is my pleasure, Charles," Larry insisted. "It is an award dealing with physics; and you are my Occam's Razor."