Numb3rs Fic: Dedication

[owl]

Characters: Don, Charlie, Alan
Rating: G
Spoilers: To mid-s4
Summary: Charlie surprises Don.
Author's note: As this is written in tight third-person pov, remember that Don is an unreliable narrator when it comes to Charlie and guilt.



"Hello?" Don called as he shut the front door of the Eppes home behind him.

"Ah, Donnie," his father acknowledged from behind his paper.

"Hey, Don," Charlie said, and instantly turned and ran upstairs.

"What's up with him?" Don asked, not really expecting an answer, and went to raid the refrigerator. When he came back to the living room Charlie was down again, grinning at Don and bouncing from one foot to the other.

"Got something for you," he said, and Don noticed his brother was holding something behind his back. He was irresistibly reminded of a much younger Charlie.

"Well, what?" he said, playing along.

Charlie brought his hands round, and it was The Book, all shiny and solid. Don was familiar with The Book in a variety of incarnations: as page proofs, on computer (he had taken pity on Amita and spell-checked a chunk of it), and as a sheaf of graph paper covered in Charlie's scrawl, twenty years ago, and when it was just Charlie on the solarium floor, expounding the social network of their high school to Don.

"Here," Charlie said, and Don took it.

"You should get him to sign it," Dad advised. "Then you can sell it on eBay."

"Only if he signs his name 'Chuck'," Don teased.

"Oh, no way," Charlie protested, but he was still grinning about something. "Where's my pen? Dad, have you seen my pen?"

Don opened the book, and flipped back to the blank page at the front, but the next page caught his eye. He read what was printed on it, and then looked up at Charlie. His face must have been pretty boggled, because Charlie's gleeful expression faded out, and he said quickly, "Is it, is that okay?"

"What's wrong?" Dad asked.

"Uh," Don said, and read aloud, "To Don, my first friend, who taught me what 'buddy' means."

"You didn't know?" Dad asked.

Don shook his head. His memory presented him with an uncomfortable list of occasions when he hadn't been much of a friend to Charlie at all. "Aw, Charlie...I don't...I didn't always..." Deserve that.

"No, really," Charlie said. "It's true, still."

And he wasn't about to hug Charlie in cold blood, so Don put his hand on Charlie's shoulder and jostled him, and Charlie jabbed him in the ribs, so Don set the book on the table to free up his other hand to ruffle Charlie's hair.

"Do not mess with the hair!" Charlie said, and twisted away.

"Do I need to tell my grown sons to mind the furniture?" Dad said, but Don could tell he was pleased.

Charlie lifted the book from the table and scribbled something. "There you go, Don."

Don took the book back. Charlie had written: You're the best brother ever. Love, Charlie.

"I'm your only brother ever," Don pointed out, and grinned. "Hey, Dad, Charlie's lost it, he can't count to two any more..."