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perpetual_motionTitle: Coping Skills
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Numb3rs
Pairing: Don/Charlie [incest]
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set mid-ep for “Uncertainty Principle”.
Summary: Don, Charlie, and memories.
Dis: Belongs to CBS. I lied.
Author’s Notes: Take note, this fic has implied tones about an incestuous relationship between brothers. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. Set mid-ep for “Uncertainty Principle”.
Coping Skills
By Perpetual Motion
Don curses as he tries to get the gauze off of his arm. He’s let the bandage sit too long, and there’s enough blood on it to make getting it off painful. He sees Charlie walk by the bathroom door and considers flagging him down, but he recognizes the glazed look in Charlie’s eyes and lets him go. His head is still on P vs. NP, and Don knows from past experience that nothing snaps Charlie out of that. He gives the gauze another tug and curses again.
Charlie is suddenly in the bathroom, pushing Don’s hands out of the way and looking at the bandage. “Charlie…” Don trails off when he realizes that Charlie still isn’t totally in the room mentally. He watches Charlie dampen a washcloth and press it against the bandage. It stings a little, but when Charlie drops the washcloth into the sink and pulls at the wrapping, it comes off without any pain at all. He gives Don a quick, pained smile and disappears down the hall.
As Don dabs at his arm with antiseptic, he’s hit suddenly with a memory he’s pushed away. Charlie, next to their mother’s bed, with a thick stack of loose leaf and a ballpoint pen. The cap of the pen is between Charlie’s teeth getting chewed into oblivion, and he’s explaining the basis of P vs. NP to his mother as he fills pages and pages with equations in his loose, half-scrawled handwriting. His mother is smiling and making all the appropriate ‘go on’ noises that mothers always make when they’re so proud of their children. She has a scarf wrapped around her head, and her hand is resting on Charlie’s knee. Charlie pauses his writing long enough to stroke the back of his mother’s hand, and then he’s writing again.
Don finishes wrapping his arm and stares at himself in the mirror for a few moments. He’s always been angry at Charlie for the way he closed himself off when their mom got sick, but the memory is telling him something different. Charlie wasn’t closed off. Charlie was by her bed at least long enough to fill a stack of loose leaf with equations. Don closes his eyes and forces himself to think about the time when their mom was sick. He concentrates on his memories of Charlie.
Charlie, scared and pale as he returns from a garage sale with yet another blackboard. He hangs it up in the garage before coming into the house and kissing his mom on the cheek. He’s gone again a few minutes later, only to return from the university with three more old blackboards. They’ve put whiteboards all over campus, and the old blackboards are just collecting dust. He stacks them in the garage and makes an appearance at dinner. He stares at their mother the entire time, looking completely lost and confused.
Charlie, weeks later, with circles under his eyes and chalk dust surrounding him in a cloud. Their mother calls him ‘Pig Pen’ in her quiet voice, and she smiles when he comes out of his head long enough to chuckle hoarsely. He’s back in the garage before anything else can be said.
Charlie, curled on a cot in the garage, chalkboards full, notebook a quarter of the way there, tear tracks running over the chalk dust on his cheeks. He opens his eyes when Don says his name softly and moves over on the cot to give Don room. He throws an arm around Don’s middle and tucks his head into Don’s shoulder. He smells like dust and sweat and fear. Don knows the smell of fear. He’s smelled it on victims and suspects, but he never thought he’d smell it on his own brother.
Charlie, at the funeral, extra-fine Sharpie in one hand, equations written up to his elbow on his other arm. He runs out of room and looks terribly lost. Don holds out his arm without even thinking.
Don pulls himself out of his memories and turns away from the mirror. He walks into the garage and puts a hand on Charlie’s shoulder.
“I’m busy.” Charlie doesn’t stop writing.
“I know.” Don puts his other hand on Charlie’s other shoulder. When Charlie hits the end of the board, Don wraps his arm around Charlie’s shoulders and pulls him in close. He presses his cheek against Charlie’s. “When I go,” he feels Charlie shudder and holds him more tightly. “When I go,” he starts again, “I won’t make you wait. When I’m gone, I’m gone. You won’t have to sit by my bed and keep me company. You won’t have to distract yourself from the fact that I’m dying. When I’m gone, I’m gone, and I won’t let you suffer through it.”
“Don…” Charlie trails off, and the piece of chalk he’s holding in his hand falls to the floor with a small clatter. “I…” Charlie turns around and wraps his arms around Don’s middle. He’s trembling. “I want to help, but I *can’t*. If I fix that equation, you’ll go back out there, and then the statistics are against you.”
“I know.” Don pets Charlie’s hair. He presses a kiss to Charlie’s temple. “But you know how I love to fuck with statistics.” He feels Charlie chuckle against his shoulder and squeezes him a little more. “Just consider that when you’re considering the whole problem, okay?”
“Okay.” Charlie pulls away and swipes at his face. Chalk dust smears across his nose. “I’ll try.”
“Thanks.” Don wipes the excess chalk dust off of Charlie’s nose and steps back to let him get back to work. Charlie’s eyes are less glazed, and when he starts writing again, it’s a lot less frantic. Don feels a huge sense of relief wash over him, and he leaves the garage silently.
Randomly: I just got nibbled on by a Larry/Charlie Tribble.
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Numb3rs
Pairing: Don/Charlie [incest]
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set mid-ep for “Uncertainty Principle”.
Summary: Don, Charlie, and memories.
Dis: Belongs to CBS. I lied.
Author’s Notes: Take note, this fic has implied tones about an incestuous relationship between brothers. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. Set mid-ep for “Uncertainty Principle”.
Coping Skills
By Perpetual Motion
Don curses as he tries to get the gauze off of his arm. He’s let the bandage sit too long, and there’s enough blood on it to make getting it off painful. He sees Charlie walk by the bathroom door and considers flagging him down, but he recognizes the glazed look in Charlie’s eyes and lets him go. His head is still on P vs. NP, and Don knows from past experience that nothing snaps Charlie out of that. He gives the gauze another tug and curses again.
Charlie is suddenly in the bathroom, pushing Don’s hands out of the way and looking at the bandage. “Charlie…” Don trails off when he realizes that Charlie still isn’t totally in the room mentally. He watches Charlie dampen a washcloth and press it against the bandage. It stings a little, but when Charlie drops the washcloth into the sink and pulls at the wrapping, it comes off without any pain at all. He gives Don a quick, pained smile and disappears down the hall.
As Don dabs at his arm with antiseptic, he’s hit suddenly with a memory he’s pushed away. Charlie, next to their mother’s bed, with a thick stack of loose leaf and a ballpoint pen. The cap of the pen is between Charlie’s teeth getting chewed into oblivion, and he’s explaining the basis of P vs. NP to his mother as he fills pages and pages with equations in his loose, half-scrawled handwriting. His mother is smiling and making all the appropriate ‘go on’ noises that mothers always make when they’re so proud of their children. She has a scarf wrapped around her head, and her hand is resting on Charlie’s knee. Charlie pauses his writing long enough to stroke the back of his mother’s hand, and then he’s writing again.
Don finishes wrapping his arm and stares at himself in the mirror for a few moments. He’s always been angry at Charlie for the way he closed himself off when their mom got sick, but the memory is telling him something different. Charlie wasn’t closed off. Charlie was by her bed at least long enough to fill a stack of loose leaf with equations. Don closes his eyes and forces himself to think about the time when their mom was sick. He concentrates on his memories of Charlie.
Charlie, scared and pale as he returns from a garage sale with yet another blackboard. He hangs it up in the garage before coming into the house and kissing his mom on the cheek. He’s gone again a few minutes later, only to return from the university with three more old blackboards. They’ve put whiteboards all over campus, and the old blackboards are just collecting dust. He stacks them in the garage and makes an appearance at dinner. He stares at their mother the entire time, looking completely lost and confused.
Charlie, weeks later, with circles under his eyes and chalk dust surrounding him in a cloud. Their mother calls him ‘Pig Pen’ in her quiet voice, and she smiles when he comes out of his head long enough to chuckle hoarsely. He’s back in the garage before anything else can be said.
Charlie, curled on a cot in the garage, chalkboards full, notebook a quarter of the way there, tear tracks running over the chalk dust on his cheeks. He opens his eyes when Don says his name softly and moves over on the cot to give Don room. He throws an arm around Don’s middle and tucks his head into Don’s shoulder. He smells like dust and sweat and fear. Don knows the smell of fear. He’s smelled it on victims and suspects, but he never thought he’d smell it on his own brother.
Charlie, at the funeral, extra-fine Sharpie in one hand, equations written up to his elbow on his other arm. He runs out of room and looks terribly lost. Don holds out his arm without even thinking.
Don pulls himself out of his memories and turns away from the mirror. He walks into the garage and puts a hand on Charlie’s shoulder.
“I’m busy.” Charlie doesn’t stop writing.
“I know.” Don puts his other hand on Charlie’s other shoulder. When Charlie hits the end of the board, Don wraps his arm around Charlie’s shoulders and pulls him in close. He presses his cheek against Charlie’s. “When I go,” he feels Charlie shudder and holds him more tightly. “When I go,” he starts again, “I won’t make you wait. When I’m gone, I’m gone. You won’t have to sit by my bed and keep me company. You won’t have to distract yourself from the fact that I’m dying. When I’m gone, I’m gone, and I won’t let you suffer through it.”
“Don…” Charlie trails off, and the piece of chalk he’s holding in his hand falls to the floor with a small clatter. “I…” Charlie turns around and wraps his arms around Don’s middle. He’s trembling. “I want to help, but I *can’t*. If I fix that equation, you’ll go back out there, and then the statistics are against you.”
“I know.” Don pets Charlie’s hair. He presses a kiss to Charlie’s temple. “But you know how I love to fuck with statistics.” He feels Charlie chuckle against his shoulder and squeezes him a little more. “Just consider that when you’re considering the whole problem, okay?”
“Okay.” Charlie pulls away and swipes at his face. Chalk dust smears across his nose. “I’ll try.”
“Thanks.” Don wipes the excess chalk dust off of Charlie’s nose and steps back to let him get back to work. Charlie’s eyes are less glazed, and when he starts writing again, it’s a lot less frantic. Don feels a huge sense of relief wash over him, and he leaves the garage silently.
Randomly: I just got nibbled on by a Larry/Charlie Tribble.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2005-02-05 04:32 am (UTC)Thanks very much for writing this- I loved the entire story with a frightening intensity, and I hope you write more in this fandom soon.
no subject
on 2006-01-09 05:02 am (UTC)Re: FYI
on 2008-04-09 08:07 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-04-10 02:24 am (UTC)*loves*
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on 2008-04-10 02:51 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-04-26 08:41 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-05-17 10:54 pm (UTC)I was actually wondering if it would be ok for me to make a podfic of this fic for
no subject
on 2008-05-18 12:02 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-05-18 12:40 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-17 06:23 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-20 12:30 am (UTC)