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FIC: Belief, Numb3rs: Charlie, Don
Someday... Numb3rs smut. *clears throat in direction of vacationing future co-author*
I'm learning that gifted children grow up very quickly. I thought I'd give Charlie's viewpoint a shot.
Title: Belief
Fandom: Numb3rs
Pairing: Charlie and Don are in it...
Rating: Everyone *sigh*
Summary: Charlie. Don. Basketball. Faith.
Belief by Audra Rose
C: I wish we could just make Dad stay in the house for a couple of weeks.
D: Yeah, well, good luck with that.
C: What? I’ve gone months without leaving the house.
-- Vector
The motion of the basketball in the x direction equals velocity in the x direction times time. The motion in the y direction equals velocity in the y direction times time minus gravity divided by two times time squared.
-- part of the equation describing a free-throw
C: This is truth; the math proves it.
-- Dirty Bomb
Charlie first figured out the equation when he was nine. Mom had said that every kid needed fresh air and exercise, and that if he sat hunched over his calculus text book any longer he’d grow up with his shoulders in a permanent slump. Argument had been pointless. The next thing he’d known he’d found himself alone on the driveway with a basketball in his hands, listening to the cicadas buzzing fretfully in the late afternoon haze.
Figuring out the equations for the velocity vectors by himself had been the hard part, since he knew his mom would get mad if he went inside to look them up, but after accounting for time and gravity, it was simple algebra.
7.6 meters per second. An angle of 60 degrees. Nothing but net.
It didn’t work, of course. It turned out that the equation was correct but the application presented difficulties. Between nine and twenty-nine he’d realized that there were real-world variables that marred the simple elegance of mathematics on paper; things like wind, which could be measured, and the human element, which was far more difficult to describe. The exact angle couldn’t be measured by eye, and the application of force came through muscles that couldn’t be controlled perfectly every time. Even so, over the years he tried to account for the changing length of arm, the increased density of muscle. Fatigue. Backspin.
“It shouldn’t take this long to set up a free throw, Charlie.”
Distraction.
Charlie ignored Don and watched the basketball leave his hands, arcing toward the backboard in a perfect parabola.
The arc broke when Don slapped the ball out of the air, dribbled it twice and took a shot. The harsh reverberation of the back board as the ball careened off into the bushes went through Charlie like an electric shock.
“The shot clock ran out about five minutes ago.”
Charlie looked at Don in irritation and then retrieved the basketball from the begonias without a word.
“What have you done all day, Charlie?” Don’s voice had taken on that tone; the one that was tolerant but strung with tension and meant the question he was asking had nothing to do with the answer he was looking for.
Charlie shrugged, bounced the ball once. “This.”
“Uh-huh. And yesterday?”
Charlie stood and held the ball at his waist. He had to think.
“Laundry.”
“Okay.” Don took the ball again and held it between his forearm and his hip. There was a crease between Don’s brows, and if Charlie added that to Don’s tone of voice that always meant Charlie had done something. “When was the last time you left the house? Or the yard?” Don added, forestalling Charlie’s objection.
Charlie couldn’t answer that because he honestly couldn’t remember. He’d taught his last class in May, given finals, turned in his grades…
“What’s the date?”
Don’s sigh was particularly long-suffering. “You know, it might be time to get out some. There’s a whole world out there – actual people you could talk to.”
Charlie shrugged and took the basketball back. “I guess.”
“Aren’t you bored?” Don sounded really irritated now, and Charlie realized that he was probably going to have to spend some time working on this problem.
“Not really. What does it matter anyway?” he asked, dribbling the ball around the place where the concrete had started to crumble. “Classes don’t start again until August.”
“It matters, Charlie. Every time you do this you make Dad worry and then he makes me crazy. You have to look outside your little world sometimes, you know?”
“My little world?” Charlie smirked, found the line and shot the basket ball again. Off the rim, this time. Distraction increased the margin of error, obviously. “You make it sound like I’ve got imaginary friends or something.”
“You’ve never had imaginary friends.” Don made it sound like that was a bad thing. He’d taken the rebound and started to dribble again, like maybe they could get on with the game. Charlie moved around him, trying to block Don’s shot.
“I bet you never believed that there were elves that turned the milk blue, either,” Don said with his back to Charlie, moving toward the basket.
“That was Dad with food coloring,” Charlie said, laughing, reaching around Don’s waist.
“Yeah, but I wasn't sure about that until I was eight. What about the rest of it?”
“The rest of what?” Charlie was beginning to wonder at Don’s vehemence. Don feinted left and pivoted around Charlie, sinking the basket without consulting physics. He turned to Charlie, and Charlie realized that the game was on hold again.
“You never took anything on faith; you just looked for the flaws in the logic. Like when I told you the dinosaurs at La Brea came out of the tar pits at night. You showed me the viscosity equation for tar and said that it was impossible.”
“It is impossible, even if they weren’t dead. And hey, you were trying to scare me.”
“That’s just an example, Charlie. Kids are supposed to believe in stuff like Kermit the Frog and Santa Claus, whether it’s true or not.”
“Well, you didn’t believe in Santa Claus, either.” Charlie pointed out.
Don ignored him.
“That story mom told us about Elijah’s violin, The Wizard of Oz – you never believed in any of it, did you?” Don demanded.
Charlie reflected. It seemed as though he’d always known that a soap bubble didn’t have enough mass to support a person’s weight. That Kermit was made of inanimate felt, that giant reptiles were ages gone. And that sound waves couldn’t be suspended in wood.
He imagined what it would have been like to believe in beautiful impossibilities.
“I think… I think I would have liked to,” Charlie said softly.
That took something out of Don, deflated his anger somehow. He sat on the wall, and after a minute Charlie joined him, resting the basket ball on his knees.
Don looked toward the koi pond and Charlie absently bounced the ball between his sneakers.
“So you believed in all that stuff?” Charlie asked after a minute.
“For awhile, yeah.” Don said, still sounding a little tired.
Not for the first time Charlie wondered why Don made the choice he did; how he went from a kid who could believe in fairy tales to a man defined by a profession so firmly rooted in reality.
“Do you remember that time I told you that tree-gnomes lived inside acorns?” Don asked after a minute. “You must have been five, maybe six?”
“I believed you that time,” Charlie said, brightening. “I really did.”
“For about five minutes, you believed me. Then you ran to mom and made her pry one open for you.” Charlie remembered holding his breath, watching her hands.
“You know,” Don said, his expression distant, “I think at that minute, she would have given just about anything in the world to open that acorn and find a gnome inside for you.”
Judging by the look on his face, maybe Don would have, too.
Charlie looked away, down at the ground. It seemed like he was always finding out the price everyone paid for the gift he’d been given was higher than he knew. He wished that at the time he’d known enough to pretend.
“Forget it, Charlie,” Don said, laying his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “You’re right; it doesn’t matter. It’s just – the world I grew up in had a lot more magic in it. I wish you could have believed it for awhile.”
The perfect free throw could be exactly described by physics but only human muscle memory could make it work. Don had wanted him to believe in gnomes in the back yard but never let him forget that there was a whole world past the fence. Charlie found some things very easy to believe in.
He shoved his shoulder against Don’s.
“Let’s get out of here. I’ll buy you lunch.”
He saw the beginnings of Don’s slow smile. “Okay. But somewhere good this time. Not that crappy taco stand.”
“I’ll let you pick.”
Charlie stood and threw the ball. 7.6 meters per second. An angle of 60 degrees. Nothing but net.
End
I'm learning that gifted children grow up very quickly. I thought I'd give Charlie's viewpoint a shot.
Title: Belief
Fandom: Numb3rs
Pairing: Charlie and Don are in it...
Rating: Everyone *sigh*
Summary: Charlie. Don. Basketball. Faith.
Belief by Audra Rose
C: I wish we could just make Dad stay in the house for a couple of weeks.
D: Yeah, well, good luck with that.
C: What? I’ve gone months without leaving the house.
-- Vector
The motion of the basketball in the x direction equals velocity in the x direction times time. The motion in the y direction equals velocity in the y direction times time minus gravity divided by two times time squared.
-- part of the equation describing a free-throw
C: This is truth; the math proves it.
-- Dirty Bomb
Charlie first figured out the equation when he was nine. Mom had said that every kid needed fresh air and exercise, and that if he sat hunched over his calculus text book any longer he’d grow up with his shoulders in a permanent slump. Argument had been pointless. The next thing he’d known he’d found himself alone on the driveway with a basketball in his hands, listening to the cicadas buzzing fretfully in the late afternoon haze.
Figuring out the equations for the velocity vectors by himself had been the hard part, since he knew his mom would get mad if he went inside to look them up, but after accounting for time and gravity, it was simple algebra.
7.6 meters per second. An angle of 60 degrees. Nothing but net.
It didn’t work, of course. It turned out that the equation was correct but the application presented difficulties. Between nine and twenty-nine he’d realized that there were real-world variables that marred the simple elegance of mathematics on paper; things like wind, which could be measured, and the human element, which was far more difficult to describe. The exact angle couldn’t be measured by eye, and the application of force came through muscles that couldn’t be controlled perfectly every time. Even so, over the years he tried to account for the changing length of arm, the increased density of muscle. Fatigue. Backspin.
“It shouldn’t take this long to set up a free throw, Charlie.”
Distraction.
Charlie ignored Don and watched the basketball leave his hands, arcing toward the backboard in a perfect parabola.
The arc broke when Don slapped the ball out of the air, dribbled it twice and took a shot. The harsh reverberation of the back board as the ball careened off into the bushes went through Charlie like an electric shock.
“The shot clock ran out about five minutes ago.”
Charlie looked at Don in irritation and then retrieved the basketball from the begonias without a word.
“What have you done all day, Charlie?” Don’s voice had taken on that tone; the one that was tolerant but strung with tension and meant the question he was asking had nothing to do with the answer he was looking for.
Charlie shrugged, bounced the ball once. “This.”
“Uh-huh. And yesterday?”
Charlie stood and held the ball at his waist. He had to think.
“Laundry.”
“Okay.” Don took the ball again and held it between his forearm and his hip. There was a crease between Don’s brows, and if Charlie added that to Don’s tone of voice that always meant Charlie had done something. “When was the last time you left the house? Or the yard?” Don added, forestalling Charlie’s objection.
Charlie couldn’t answer that because he honestly couldn’t remember. He’d taught his last class in May, given finals, turned in his grades…
“What’s the date?”
Don’s sigh was particularly long-suffering. “You know, it might be time to get out some. There’s a whole world out there – actual people you could talk to.”
Charlie shrugged and took the basketball back. “I guess.”
“Aren’t you bored?” Don sounded really irritated now, and Charlie realized that he was probably going to have to spend some time working on this problem.
“Not really. What does it matter anyway?” he asked, dribbling the ball around the place where the concrete had started to crumble. “Classes don’t start again until August.”
“It matters, Charlie. Every time you do this you make Dad worry and then he makes me crazy. You have to look outside your little world sometimes, you know?”
“My little world?” Charlie smirked, found the line and shot the basket ball again. Off the rim, this time. Distraction increased the margin of error, obviously. “You make it sound like I’ve got imaginary friends or something.”
“You’ve never had imaginary friends.” Don made it sound like that was a bad thing. He’d taken the rebound and started to dribble again, like maybe they could get on with the game. Charlie moved around him, trying to block Don’s shot.
“I bet you never believed that there were elves that turned the milk blue, either,” Don said with his back to Charlie, moving toward the basket.
“That was Dad with food coloring,” Charlie said, laughing, reaching around Don’s waist.
“Yeah, but I wasn't sure about that until I was eight. What about the rest of it?”
“The rest of what?” Charlie was beginning to wonder at Don’s vehemence. Don feinted left and pivoted around Charlie, sinking the basket without consulting physics. He turned to Charlie, and Charlie realized that the game was on hold again.
“You never took anything on faith; you just looked for the flaws in the logic. Like when I told you the dinosaurs at La Brea came out of the tar pits at night. You showed me the viscosity equation for tar and said that it was impossible.”
“It is impossible, even if they weren’t dead. And hey, you were trying to scare me.”
“That’s just an example, Charlie. Kids are supposed to believe in stuff like Kermit the Frog and Santa Claus, whether it’s true or not.”
“Well, you didn’t believe in Santa Claus, either.” Charlie pointed out.
Don ignored him.
“That story mom told us about Elijah’s violin, The Wizard of Oz – you never believed in any of it, did you?” Don demanded.
Charlie reflected. It seemed as though he’d always known that a soap bubble didn’t have enough mass to support a person’s weight. That Kermit was made of inanimate felt, that giant reptiles were ages gone. And that sound waves couldn’t be suspended in wood.
He imagined what it would have been like to believe in beautiful impossibilities.
“I think… I think I would have liked to,” Charlie said softly.
That took something out of Don, deflated his anger somehow. He sat on the wall, and after a minute Charlie joined him, resting the basket ball on his knees.
Don looked toward the koi pond and Charlie absently bounced the ball between his sneakers.
“So you believed in all that stuff?” Charlie asked after a minute.
“For awhile, yeah.” Don said, still sounding a little tired.
Not for the first time Charlie wondered why Don made the choice he did; how he went from a kid who could believe in fairy tales to a man defined by a profession so firmly rooted in reality.
“Do you remember that time I told you that tree-gnomes lived inside acorns?” Don asked after a minute. “You must have been five, maybe six?”
“I believed you that time,” Charlie said, brightening. “I really did.”
“For about five minutes, you believed me. Then you ran to mom and made her pry one open for you.” Charlie remembered holding his breath, watching her hands.
“You know,” Don said, his expression distant, “I think at that minute, she would have given just about anything in the world to open that acorn and find a gnome inside for you.”
Judging by the look on his face, maybe Don would have, too.
Charlie looked away, down at the ground. It seemed like he was always finding out the price everyone paid for the gift he’d been given was higher than he knew. He wished that at the time he’d known enough to pretend.
“Forget it, Charlie,” Don said, laying his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “You’re right; it doesn’t matter. It’s just – the world I grew up in had a lot more magic in it. I wish you could have believed it for awhile.”
The perfect free throw could be exactly described by physics but only human muscle memory could make it work. Don had wanted him to believe in gnomes in the back yard but never let him forget that there was a whole world past the fence. Charlie found some things very easy to believe in.
He shoved his shoulder against Don’s.
“Let’s get out of here. I’ll buy you lunch.”
He saw the beginnings of Don’s slow smile. “Okay. But somewhere good this time. Not that crappy taco stand.”
“I’ll let you pick.”
Charlie stood and threw the ball. 7.6 meters per second. An angle of 60 degrees. Nothing but net.
End
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“That was Dad with food coloring,” Charlie said, laughing, reaching around Don’s waist.
“Yeah, but I wasn't sure about that until I was eight. What about the rest of it?”
Oh! Oh, how much did I love this? I always believed in that kind of stuff. (I still half-way do.) and I love how you captured the... wistfulness of it without going over-the-top. Beautiful. (especially since I just spent the past hour going over my tapes to make sure I have all the episodes.)
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phew! *g* I was worried, you know? It's kind of a fine line. :)
Yay!
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Great job.
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Awww...
I'm all misty-eyed. That was so sweet, but more -- comfortable -- between the two brothers, even with the tad of irritation/worry that Don is feeling.
"It’s just -- the world I grew up in had a lot more magic in it. I wish you could have believed it for awhile.”
and
Don had wanted him to believe in gnomes in the back yard but never let him forget that there was a whole world past the fence.
Those are just beautiful, and describes it in a nutshell. Absolutely lovely; this one is already saved on my HD. Thank you.
And now, may I point out a couple of beta things?
Charlie first figured out the equation out when he was nine. Either use of 'out' is correct, but you don't need both.
'Basket ball' is one word. (You have it as one in several places, but as two in several other places.)
margin of error , - that sneaky space slipped in before the comma.
(And if I've overstepped, let me know. I can point out the minor glitches privately, or not at all, if you prefer.)
.
Re: Awww...
Not at all. *g* I appreciate the catch - I usually only have my long stuff beta'd, so it's nice to get another pair of eyes on it. :)
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Also, can take or leave smut. Don't sweat it!
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(And your icon continues to kill me. *loves*)
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“You know,” Don said, his expression distant, “I think at that minute, she would have given just about anything in the world to open that acorn and find a gnome inside for you.”
Judging by the look on his face, maybe Don would have, too.
Charlie looked away, down at the ground. It seemed like he was always finding out the price everyone paid for the gift he’d been given was higher than he knew. He wished that at the time he’d known enough to pretend.
That just made me want to hug both of them.
*sniffle*
You know, if you ever do get around to the smut, it's going to be a beautiful thing. :)
Kisses...
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was just perfect. You could just *feel* Don in those lines. So yeah, wow. Great job!
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Also, the line that really got to me is the following: "I think at that minute, she would have given just about anything in the world to open that acorn and find a gnome inside for you", I mean, the whole story got to me but that line in particular? Really resonated with me for some reason. I just pictured the scene of this mother who wanted nothing more but give magic to his son, knowing she couldn't and just... wow.
Also also, no seriously? You're looking for a smutty co-author? Well you know what I mean lol
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Anyway, thank you for your lovely comments - I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. *hugs*
PS The smut eludes me on this one. *g* I need a mentor. :)
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Thank you so much for commenting!
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(and also I can't read NUMB3RS smut so would much rather you just kept writing stories like these)
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I love the way Don and Charlie meet and don't meet in this story. The idea of Charlie growing up not with a child's imagination, but an adult's reality hurts something inside me, and it's a wonderful thing that Don is both saddened and resistant of that fact. Great stuff.
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Yes, thank you! That's how I see them - they have such differences between them, but ultimately they really just love each other. They really give us a lot to work with, on all levels, I think. :)
Better Response
“It shouldn’t take this long to set up a free throw, Charlie.”
Distraction.
Charlie ignored Don and watched the basketball leave his hands, arcing toward the backboard in a perfect parabola.
The arc broke when Don slapped the ball out of the air, dribbled it twice and took a shot. The harsh reverberation of the back board as the ball careened off into the bushes went through Charlie like an electric shock.
“The shot clock ran out about five minutes ago.”
Charlie looked at Don in irritation and then retrieved the basketball from the begonias without a word.
I love that whole section. Some sibling rivalry, the contrast in their characters . . . it's not that Don doesn't think things through, but he tends to make a decision and act on it, he's a man of action whereas Charlie's really, really not. He always wants to go back and verify his results.
I also love the way Charlie can read Don:
Don’s voice had taken on that tone; the one that was tolerant but strung with tension and meant the question he was asking had nothing to do with the answer he was looking for. and There was a crease between Don’s brows, and if Charlie added that to Don’s tone of voice that always meant Charlie had done something.
He's his brother, so he knows these things, and it suggests that they've had this conversation before, even before Don has explicitely stated that they have. Or at least, that Charlie does this, Alan freaks and bugs Don.
sinking the basket without consulting physics.
And I just like that phrase. It's great.
“I think… I think I would have liked to,” Charlie said softly.
So heartbreaking!
Not for the first time Charlie wondered why Don made the choice he did; how he went from a kid who could believe in fairy tales to a man defined by a profession so firmly rooted in reality.
A damn good question.
Charlie looked away, down at the ground. It seemed like he was always finding out the price everyone paid for the gift he’d been given was higher than he knew. He wished that at the time he’d known enough to pretend.
Poor poor Charlie.
The ending was perfect, by the way. From the shoulder shove to the last line. I loved the whole thing.
Re: Better Response
Anyway, thanks so much for commenting *g*
Re: Better Response
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Don't get me wrong - I like me some smut. But this and Arms of the Galaxy are truly beautiful.
I'll go back to my own little corner now...
Kisses...
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If the result of non-smut is fics like this, then by all means, take your time!
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Charlie's realization about the cost of his 'gift'not just to himself. Don showing up to take Charlie out of himself-the whole idea about the true gift that the ability to believe, even just for a little while in whimsy and magic is-just amazing, all of it.
thanks.
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I appreciate your taking the time to comment. :)
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Yep, this is an excellent plan. *bg* Because if you didn't already get this: I loved this. Wonderful. All your worries about not capturing Charlie's voice? Pfft. Unfounded.
Don had wanted him to believe in gnomes in the back yard but never let him forget that there was a whole world past the fence. Charlie found some things very easy to believe in.
Freakin' brilliant. This isn't just fanfic; this is canon. Absolutely amazing canon. *bg*
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I'm so glad you liked this! *joy* Pretty soon they're going to have to stop being all reflective and brotherly, though. Smut beckons. *bg*
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Awesome story
(Anonymous) 2005-07-06 07:24 pm (UTC)(link)Anyway, this story was awesome. I absolutely loved it. I really like how you see into the characters like that.
Thank you for writing such a wonderful story.
Marjorie
Re: Awesome story
As far as "pairings" *g*... it does seem as though most fanfiction is slash oriented - essentially, depicting the relationship between two characters of the same sex. In fact, in other fandoms, it's what I ususally write. However, if this isn't to your taste, I think you can find some good gen (general -- no pairings) at fanfiction.net, and also at Patterns, which is the Numb3rs archive. Here's a link: http://numb3rsfic.cellophanesun.com/index.php
Good luck, and I hope you find what you're looking for. :)
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Just that final little twist there.
I enjoyed reading this, the warmth of their relationship and the strangeness of perceiving the world differently, even if for only a little bit, comes through.
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I'm glad you liked it!
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Judging by the look on his face, maybe Don would have, too.
I think that was my favourite part. this kind of reminds me of my sister and i growing up.
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This was recced on
*applauds you*