Numb3rs Fic: A Craftsman Evening
Posted to numb3rs_fic
Title: A Craftsman Evening
Pairing/Characters: Don, Charlie, Alan, Larry
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: Seasons 1-3, The Fifth Man, Disturbed
Summary: Don spends his first night out of the hospital relaxing with family in the backyard
Notes/Warnings: Read the disclaimer on my LJ
A deep orange sun shone low on the horizon, painting the Craftsman in warm golden light and leaving long shadows in the backyard - hints of the summer-like night to come. The lingering heat of the day had calmed and the air was lazy and thick with roses - drifting away with the sun, and jasmine - raising its fair head to greet the coming moon.
Don lay in a boneless sprawl across the wicker sofa, too many cushions around him - courtesy of his mother-hen father - content and sated by a good meal made even better with family love and his recent suffering at the hands of the hospital cafeteria. Rarely did simple food taste as good as it did here - at home. It didn't matter that this wasn't his address, that he didn't sleep here every night, even that Charlie now held the deed to the place. The Craftsman was where he turned to for comfort and that made it home far more than his history growing up there ever did.
The pain medication left him with a pleasant drowsiness, a softening of the world around him so that it slowed to fit his new speed, which was bordering on stop at this point. His hand went to his stomach, half out of habit after a big meal and half out of his new habit of covering his wound beneath his clothes - almost as if to remind himself it wasn't a dream, that he almost lost all of this in one brief violent encounter.
He'd watched his brother talk for decades now, knew every emphatic hand gesture, knew his body language when he was building to take on a particular point, could hear it in his voice when he was sure he was right and just waiting for his chance to spout off whatever logic supported his point of view.
This was Charlie, his Charlie, all the bluster and enthusiasm and childlike wonder, all the ego and energy... For all the times they'd clashed in the past, for all the years they wasted being pigheaded and stubborn - neither yielding, none of that compared to what they had now. Not just the peace their father had always hoped for - out loud, as if his pleading to the heavens would work on this boys - but a camaraderie, a connection, a bond that would last long after their father was gone.
"If we don't stop them, they'll go on all night."
Don's eyes crinkled up as his trademark grin graced his face at his father's conspiratorial whisper.
"Yeah, they'd look up like three hours from now and wonder where the hell we went to."
"Three hours?" Alan huffed, amused. "You give your brother too much credit."
"Oh, Charlie would last far longer," Don retorted, chuckling. "My money's on Larry to wake up in three."
"Don't tempt me into taking that action." Alan rose and started to pick up the dinner dishes. "I'm going to get these dishes started."
"Oh, Alan!" Larry broke free of Charlie's intent monologue, much to Charlie's consternation. "Please, allow me. I feel compelled to acknowledge your wonderful hospitality with the offer of my servitude, however brief..."
"You don't have to..." Alan tried to say before Larry continued on.
"...so that you might be able to enjoy this picturesque and somewhat celebratory evening in the company of both your sons, given that this is Don's first night out of the hospital." Larry nodded his head in acknowledgment to Don who returned his nod, grateful, then removed the dishes from Alan's hands. "I have excellent credentials from the monastery. I only broke one plate the whole time I was on dish duty and although he will debate the point, the facts clearly point to Brother Theodore as bearing the majority of the blame for that little mishap."
"We have a dishwasher," Charlie piped up. "It's statistically unlikely you'll break a dish putting them in it."
Larry raised a finger with his free hand. "Ah, but one thing I learned in the monastery is that reliance on supposedly time-saving machines can rob us of our meditative moments in life. All the rushing around people do steals the stillness and peace from their day." He nodded thoughtfully. "I find washing dishes by hand to truly be a zen activity. Mindful and mindless at the same time. Yes, I find that somewhere between the glasses and the cutlery my mind tends to wander to very interesting places indeed."
Alan handed the rest of the dishes to Larry. "Far be it from me to keep you from being interesting," he said with a smirk.
"Thank you, Alan." Larry made a small adjustment to the stacks and headed inside. "Don, Charles, I leave you to your own zen out here communing with the koi. I'll show myself out when I'm done communing with your kitchen."
"Thanks, Larry." Don cocked his head at him as Charlie gave a little wave.
"Thanks, man. See you tomorrow..."
Alan went to open the kitchen door for Larry as Don looked across to where Charlie was finally relaxing, folding himself over the chair as he scrubbed his face with his hand.
"Long day?" Don asked.
"Long week," Charlie replied, his glance flicking towards Don's midsection. "You'd be surprised how much a family member getting stabbed takes it out of you," he tried to joke.
"You'd be surprised how much getting stabbed takes it out of you," Don joshed back. "But I've got to tell you, these meds are pretty damn good. I'm feeling no pain."
"I'm just sorry you can't have a beer." Charlie picked his up and drained the last of it. "It feels weird to have a beer and see you drinking soda for once."
"Hey, I drink soda!" Don crumpled up a spare napkin and tossed it, aiming it at Charlie's head. He winced at the effort and Charlie almost leaped to his feet in response. "I'm good," he said, waving Charlie off. "Just not up for playing third base just yet."
"You only played third base for half a season in Stockton." Charlie's forehead furrowed in confusion. "Why third base and not any of your more normal positions?"
"Third base was boring!" Don exclaimed. "I got ten times the action in the outfield than on third base! Triples are pretty rare, no one throws out at third and infield fly balls rarely do anything but go foul in that direction. So I'll be up for third base long before I'm ready to hustle as shortstop."
Charlie nodded in understanding. "Got it. And your stats as shortstop..."
Don held up a hand to halt him, laughing. "I just got out of the hospital, buddy! Can I at least have one math free night? Remember, pain meds. Brain's pretty much on hiatus at the moment."
"Oh, like we're going to be back to discussing the intricacies of Mirkovic-Vilonen polytope structures a week from now?" Charlie tossed the wadded up napkin back at Don, but there was no force behind the throw, just playfulness.
"How about we split the difference and talk hockey stats?" Don suggested, tossing the napkin back, more carefully this time.
Charlie caught it handily. "You're on." He glanced up to find Alan just leaning against the house, watching. "I thought you went in with Larry."
"No, just taking his advice and enjoying an evening with my sons," Alan said, his tone almost a little wistful.
"It's better if you're actually with us, you know," Don teased, holding out his hands for Charlie to throw the napkin ball back, which he did.
Alan settled down into his chair with a long sigh. "I remember you two used to throw things across that old picnic table we had out here when you were kids." He let out a nostalgic chuckle. "I never saw who started it, but it would be something small - a corn kernel or a potato chip - and escalate into ice cubes and bits of hot dog bun until your mother would threaten to withhold dessert if you kept it up. Then it was the battle to see who could get in the last volley without getting caught and risking losing out on your mother's peach cobbler."
"You know we should dig out that old recipe," Charlie said excitedly. "I bet it would be great with Larry's liquid nitrogen ice cream!"
"That was some weird looking stuff," Don said, eyes looking in the distance at the memory, "but it tasted good! It's just..." He glanced at the kitchen to make sure the window was closed before continuing on, voice lowered. "Consider the source! Mr. White Food?"
Their laughter rang out across the backyard as the last slice of orange sun slipped beneath the mountain covers, easing into its bed in the sea for the night.
Don's hand went again to his midriff, resting there as they fell into a companionable silence.
"You know..." Alan broke the quiet, his voice drained of humor. "Charlie and I... We were really afraid this was it at first. We've both been waiting for 'the call' as it were for years now. So when it came..."
"Dad..." Don just looked at his father, helpless to staunch the grief the news had brought out in him.
"But there's one thing that kept us going, through the surgery, the waiting, the worrying... It was what we held onto when..." Alan faltered, but Charlie picked up for him, leaning forward in his chair.
"We watched them," he said quietly, hands clenched in front of him, his eyes darting from the wringing in front of him to Don. "When you flat-lined? We watched them bring in the crash cart. We saw them," he paused long enough to swallow hard, "when they shocked you back."
"Charlie..." Don shook his head, not wanting to see his family go through this pain again.
"But we knew..." Alan picked up again, voice sounding calmer, more stable "We didn't even have to say it. We just knew. Donnie's a fighter. I could hear your mother say it in my head, clear as day. He's the strongest of all of us."
"Yeah," Charlie echoed. "I knew it was going to take a heck of a lot more than some little stab wound to take down my big brother."
Don tried to speak, but nothing came, the affection for his family too overwhelming for words. He tried to smile, but a lump formed in his throat and his eyes prickled with emotion.
"So this is our roundabout way of saying we believed in you," Alan finally said, eyes bright and watery as he sat up tall, proud. "Always have."
"Always will." Charlie's expression of pride matched his father's and not for the first time was Don struck by the resemblance between them, only this time it didn't feel like them apart from him - the one who looked so different - it was the three of them together, one family united.
"Thanks," he finally managed, the word difficult to get out yet never more heartfelt. "That means a lot to me."
The silence that followed was the silence of men who needed say no more in the absence of the one woman who would have filled it with her own voice, chiming in with the support Don knew he'd always had, just as unshakable.
"Sun's down." Alan glanced over his shoulder to confirm the encroaching twilight. "Why don't we go inside and beat the pants off Charlie in Scrabble?"
"You're on!" Don pelted Charlie with the napkin ball, catching him unprepared as it bounced off his chest.
"Hey! Scrabble? That's just mean!" Charlie protested. Don caught him pocketing the napkin ball for later and they shared a sly wink as their father stood to head indoors. "I mean I get why I can't pummel the gimp at chess..."
"How about poker?" Don piped up.
"Oh good god!" Alan threw up his hands. "Charlie's already got the deed to the house! How much more can he take?"
"Hey, I paid good money for this house," Charlie mock complained as he got up from his chair, wagging a finger at his father. "So I should be able to say this is a Scrabble-free house now!"
"Jeez, if this keeps up, we'll wind up playing Go Fish or Old Maid!" Don made a show of exasperation even if it was only in fun.
"We'll split the difference and play Hearts," Alan said, giving his sons a bemused look. "Since I think you're both too old to play Spoons." He headed towards the house. "I'll go find the cards. I think they were in the Solarium last."
"Yeah, I was using them to describe a random matrix theory to Amita..." Charlie's voice trailed off when he saw Don trying to rise. The pain must have been clear on Don's face because Charlie was at his side in an instant, taking hold of his arm and slinging it over his neck as his other arm went around Don's waist - gentle yet supportive - to help him stand. "You good?"
Don paused for a moment - his injured, weary body making its displeasure known. He leaned into his brother and felt Charlie take his weight - solid and sure beside him.
"Yeah. I just need a minute."
"Take your time." Charlie's voice was reassuring in his ears and he let his eyes fall closed for a second as he garnered his strength for the walk inside. The crickets had begun their nightly chorus and a hint of a breeze had begun to rustle the leaves of the trees. The jasmine had won the war of the roses and the air was redolent with his mother's favorite scent. A wet splash from the koi pond resounded in the quiet dusky yard.
He'd survived, his brother was by his side and a few weeks from now he'd be back to his old self - older, wiser and a little more scarred, but alive and well.
For now, he was home and nothing heals like family.
"I'm ready." Don opened his eyes and met his brother's worried gaze with a look of assurance and comforting smile. "I'm going to be fine."
Don saw Charlie's concern evaporate as his smile matched his brother's.
"I know."
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Title: A Craftsman Evening
Pairing/Characters: Don, Charlie, Alan, Larry
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: Seasons 1-3, The Fifth Man, Disturbed
Summary: Don spends his first night out of the hospital relaxing with family in the backyard
Notes/Warnings: Read the disclaimer on my LJ
A deep orange sun shone low on the horizon, painting the Craftsman in warm golden light and leaving long shadows in the backyard - hints of the summer-like night to come. The lingering heat of the day had calmed and the air was lazy and thick with roses - drifting away with the sun, and jasmine - raising its fair head to greet the coming moon.
Don lay in a boneless sprawl across the wicker sofa, too many cushions around him - courtesy of his mother-hen father - content and sated by a good meal made even better with family love and his recent suffering at the hands of the hospital cafeteria. Rarely did simple food taste as good as it did here - at home. It didn't matter that this wasn't his address, that he didn't sleep here every night, even that Charlie now held the deed to the place. The Craftsman was where he turned to for comfort and that made it home far more than his history growing up there ever did.
The pain medication left him with a pleasant drowsiness, a softening of the world around him so that it slowed to fit his new speed, which was bordering on stop at this point. His hand went to his stomach, half out of habit after a big meal and half out of his new habit of covering his wound beneath his clothes - almost as if to remind himself it wasn't a dream, that he almost lost all of this in one brief violent encounter.
He'd watched his brother talk for decades now, knew every emphatic hand gesture, knew his body language when he was building to take on a particular point, could hear it in his voice when he was sure he was right and just waiting for his chance to spout off whatever logic supported his point of view.
This was Charlie, his Charlie, all the bluster and enthusiasm and childlike wonder, all the ego and energy... For all the times they'd clashed in the past, for all the years they wasted being pigheaded and stubborn - neither yielding, none of that compared to what they had now. Not just the peace their father had always hoped for - out loud, as if his pleading to the heavens would work on this boys - but a camaraderie, a connection, a bond that would last long after their father was gone.
"If we don't stop them, they'll go on all night."
Don's eyes crinkled up as his trademark grin graced his face at his father's conspiratorial whisper.
"Yeah, they'd look up like three hours from now and wonder where the hell we went to."
"Three hours?" Alan huffed, amused. "You give your brother too much credit."
"Oh, Charlie would last far longer," Don retorted, chuckling. "My money's on Larry to wake up in three."
"Don't tempt me into taking that action." Alan rose and started to pick up the dinner dishes. "I'm going to get these dishes started."
"Oh, Alan!" Larry broke free of Charlie's intent monologue, much to Charlie's consternation. "Please, allow me. I feel compelled to acknowledge your wonderful hospitality with the offer of my servitude, however brief..."
"You don't have to..." Alan tried to say before Larry continued on.
"...so that you might be able to enjoy this picturesque and somewhat celebratory evening in the company of both your sons, given that this is Don's first night out of the hospital." Larry nodded his head in acknowledgment to Don who returned his nod, grateful, then removed the dishes from Alan's hands. "I have excellent credentials from the monastery. I only broke one plate the whole time I was on dish duty and although he will debate the point, the facts clearly point to Brother Theodore as bearing the majority of the blame for that little mishap."
"We have a dishwasher," Charlie piped up. "It's statistically unlikely you'll break a dish putting them in it."
Larry raised a finger with his free hand. "Ah, but one thing I learned in the monastery is that reliance on supposedly time-saving machines can rob us of our meditative moments in life. All the rushing around people do steals the stillness and peace from their day." He nodded thoughtfully. "I find washing dishes by hand to truly be a zen activity. Mindful and mindless at the same time. Yes, I find that somewhere between the glasses and the cutlery my mind tends to wander to very interesting places indeed."
Alan handed the rest of the dishes to Larry. "Far be it from me to keep you from being interesting," he said with a smirk.
"Thank you, Alan." Larry made a small adjustment to the stacks and headed inside. "Don, Charles, I leave you to your own zen out here communing with the koi. I'll show myself out when I'm done communing with your kitchen."
"Thanks, Larry." Don cocked his head at him as Charlie gave a little wave.
"Thanks, man. See you tomorrow..."
Alan went to open the kitchen door for Larry as Don looked across to where Charlie was finally relaxing, folding himself over the chair as he scrubbed his face with his hand.
"Long day?" Don asked.
"Long week," Charlie replied, his glance flicking towards Don's midsection. "You'd be surprised how much a family member getting stabbed takes it out of you," he tried to joke.
"You'd be surprised how much getting stabbed takes it out of you," Don joshed back. "But I've got to tell you, these meds are pretty damn good. I'm feeling no pain."
"I'm just sorry you can't have a beer." Charlie picked his up and drained the last of it. "It feels weird to have a beer and see you drinking soda for once."
"Hey, I drink soda!" Don crumpled up a spare napkin and tossed it, aiming it at Charlie's head. He winced at the effort and Charlie almost leaped to his feet in response. "I'm good," he said, waving Charlie off. "Just not up for playing third base just yet."
"You only played third base for half a season in Stockton." Charlie's forehead furrowed in confusion. "Why third base and not any of your more normal positions?"
"Third base was boring!" Don exclaimed. "I got ten times the action in the outfield than on third base! Triples are pretty rare, no one throws out at third and infield fly balls rarely do anything but go foul in that direction. So I'll be up for third base long before I'm ready to hustle as shortstop."
Charlie nodded in understanding. "Got it. And your stats as shortstop..."
Don held up a hand to halt him, laughing. "I just got out of the hospital, buddy! Can I at least have one math free night? Remember, pain meds. Brain's pretty much on hiatus at the moment."
"Oh, like we're going to be back to discussing the intricacies of Mirkovic-Vilonen polytope structures a week from now?" Charlie tossed the wadded up napkin back at Don, but there was no force behind the throw, just playfulness.
"How about we split the difference and talk hockey stats?" Don suggested, tossing the napkin back, more carefully this time.
Charlie caught it handily. "You're on." He glanced up to find Alan just leaning against the house, watching. "I thought you went in with Larry."
"No, just taking his advice and enjoying an evening with my sons," Alan said, his tone almost a little wistful.
"It's better if you're actually with us, you know," Don teased, holding out his hands for Charlie to throw the napkin ball back, which he did.
Alan settled down into his chair with a long sigh. "I remember you two used to throw things across that old picnic table we had out here when you were kids." He let out a nostalgic chuckle. "I never saw who started it, but it would be something small - a corn kernel or a potato chip - and escalate into ice cubes and bits of hot dog bun until your mother would threaten to withhold dessert if you kept it up. Then it was the battle to see who could get in the last volley without getting caught and risking losing out on your mother's peach cobbler."
"You know we should dig out that old recipe," Charlie said excitedly. "I bet it would be great with Larry's liquid nitrogen ice cream!"
"That was some weird looking stuff," Don said, eyes looking in the distance at the memory, "but it tasted good! It's just..." He glanced at the kitchen to make sure the window was closed before continuing on, voice lowered. "Consider the source! Mr. White Food?"
Their laughter rang out across the backyard as the last slice of orange sun slipped beneath the mountain covers, easing into its bed in the sea for the night.
Don's hand went again to his midriff, resting there as they fell into a companionable silence.
"You know..." Alan broke the quiet, his voice drained of humor. "Charlie and I... We were really afraid this was it at first. We've both been waiting for 'the call' as it were for years now. So when it came..."
"Dad..." Don just looked at his father, helpless to staunch the grief the news had brought out in him.
"But there's one thing that kept us going, through the surgery, the waiting, the worrying... It was what we held onto when..." Alan faltered, but Charlie picked up for him, leaning forward in his chair.
"We watched them," he said quietly, hands clenched in front of him, his eyes darting from the wringing in front of him to Don. "When you flat-lined? We watched them bring in the crash cart. We saw them," he paused long enough to swallow hard, "when they shocked you back."
"Charlie..." Don shook his head, not wanting to see his family go through this pain again.
"But we knew..." Alan picked up again, voice sounding calmer, more stable "We didn't even have to say it. We just knew. Donnie's a fighter. I could hear your mother say it in my head, clear as day. He's the strongest of all of us."
"Yeah," Charlie echoed. "I knew it was going to take a heck of a lot more than some little stab wound to take down my big brother."
Don tried to speak, but nothing came, the affection for his family too overwhelming for words. He tried to smile, but a lump formed in his throat and his eyes prickled with emotion.
"So this is our roundabout way of saying we believed in you," Alan finally said, eyes bright and watery as he sat up tall, proud. "Always have."
"Always will." Charlie's expression of pride matched his father's and not for the first time was Don struck by the resemblance between them, only this time it didn't feel like them apart from him - the one who looked so different - it was the three of them together, one family united.
"Thanks," he finally managed, the word difficult to get out yet never more heartfelt. "That means a lot to me."
The silence that followed was the silence of men who needed say no more in the absence of the one woman who would have filled it with her own voice, chiming in with the support Don knew he'd always had, just as unshakable.
"Sun's down." Alan glanced over his shoulder to confirm the encroaching twilight. "Why don't we go inside and beat the pants off Charlie in Scrabble?"
"You're on!" Don pelted Charlie with the napkin ball, catching him unprepared as it bounced off his chest.
"Hey! Scrabble? That's just mean!" Charlie protested. Don caught him pocketing the napkin ball for later and they shared a sly wink as their father stood to head indoors. "I mean I get why I can't pummel the gimp at chess..."
"How about poker?" Don piped up.
"Oh good god!" Alan threw up his hands. "Charlie's already got the deed to the house! How much more can he take?"
"Hey, I paid good money for this house," Charlie mock complained as he got up from his chair, wagging a finger at his father. "So I should be able to say this is a Scrabble-free house now!"
"Jeez, if this keeps up, we'll wind up playing Go Fish or Old Maid!" Don made a show of exasperation even if it was only in fun.
"We'll split the difference and play Hearts," Alan said, giving his sons a bemused look. "Since I think you're both too old to play Spoons." He headed towards the house. "I'll go find the cards. I think they were in the Solarium last."
"Yeah, I was using them to describe a random matrix theory to Amita..." Charlie's voice trailed off when he saw Don trying to rise. The pain must have been clear on Don's face because Charlie was at his side in an instant, taking hold of his arm and slinging it over his neck as his other arm went around Don's waist - gentle yet supportive - to help him stand. "You good?"
Don paused for a moment - his injured, weary body making its displeasure known. He leaned into his brother and felt Charlie take his weight - solid and sure beside him.
"Yeah. I just need a minute."
"Take your time." Charlie's voice was reassuring in his ears and he let his eyes fall closed for a second as he garnered his strength for the walk inside. The crickets had begun their nightly chorus and a hint of a breeze had begun to rustle the leaves of the trees. The jasmine had won the war of the roses and the air was redolent with his mother's favorite scent. A wet splash from the koi pond resounded in the quiet dusky yard.
He'd survived, his brother was by his side and a few weeks from now he'd be back to his old self - older, wiser and a little more scarred, but alive and well.
For now, he was home and nothing heals like family.
"I'm ready." Don opened his eyes and met his brother's worried gaze with a look of assurance and comforting smile. "I'm going to be fine."
Don saw Charlie's concern evaporate as his smile matched his brother's.
"I know."
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