Fic: No One's Fault [Numb3rs]
Title: No One's Fault
Rating: PG
Fandom: Numb3rs
Characters: Don, Charlie
Word Count: 899
Summary: Set one evening, three months after Margaret Eppes's death.
Warning: Deals with the death of Margaret Eppes.
Author's Note: Originally written for the Forums. Written in 30 minutes.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. They just let me play with them.
The house was quiet. Quiet and dark, Don noticed as he closed the front door. His fingers slipped down the grainy surface, falling back to hang loosely at his side.
Stepping into the foyer area, he removed his side piece and cell phone. The two objects clunked next to his mother’s green fluted bowl. For a moment, Don trailed his fingers over the green porcelain.
Nostalgia washed over him, memories of Margaret Eppes, of her love, wisdom, and patience, flooding through his system. The weight of those memories made him stagger back and one hand shot out to grab the small round table.
Don waited a few moments for the tide to pass. His breathing was ragged when he opened his eyes. The Craftsman was still dark and still quiet. It had been quiet for three months now, since Don, Charlie and his father had laid his mother to rest.
Without her warmth and while the three remaining Eppes struggled to merely survive with her loss, the usually lively house had turned cold and empty. Shadows constantly plagued the walls, threatening to grab hold and drag anyone back down into that darkness that was grief.
The three of them had struggled, Don, Charlie, and Alan, and it hadn’t been easy. Deaths never were. It was a fact of life, one that was unfair and cruel. But it was a fact nonetheless, as Don had come to realize.
In control, or at least somewhat in control on the outside, Don walked into the living room, intent on finding a game of some sorts to watch. Work hadn’t been exceedingly terrible as far as some cases went, but he was tired. He remembered his father mentioning something about going out to the corner store to get stuff for dinner.
Reaching for the side lamp, something caught his peripheral vision and made Don pause. He studied the figure for a few moments, weighing his options as to what to do.
Don made up his mind and forgot about a sports game. The door opened with ease and he stepped out into the green backyard, moving towards the koi pond.
Rays from the setting sun splayed out across the lawn and the fence. Crickets chirruped and birds whistled from the trees. Babbling water from the koi’s domain completed the peaceful atmosphere.
Charlie looked up as Don sat down next to him beside the pond. Twiddling a blade of grass between his fingers, he said, “Hey, Don.”
One look at his brother’s face told Don that something was wrong. The genius’s eyes were vacant and that sadness that had dominated them for the past six months was back tenfold. Carefully, he responded. “Hey, Charlie. What are you doing out here?”
“Just thinking.” That was the answer Charlie gave him.
Don didn’t press and settled for waiting.
After a few minutes of peering around the backyard and shredding the grass blade, Charlie sighed and shifted until his body was turned to Don. “Don, do you… do you think that I let Mom down?”
Don sucked in a deep breath of air, shocked at the bluntness of his brother’s question. “No, Buddy, not at all. Why would you think that?”
Charlie’s brown eyes peered up at him. “I just feel sometimes that I failed her somehow. I’m the genius. I’m the one that is supposed to have all the answers. And when she got sick… I didn’t have an answer.”
Swallowing, Don took a moment to think of his response. This was the first real time that Charlie had truly opened up about their mother’s death. “You didn’t fail her, Buddy. But, I know what you’re thinking and I get what you feel.”
His brother stared at him. “Yeah?”
Don’s hands went into motion as he talked, moving on their own. He gave a short bitter laugh. “I’m the FBI agent. I’m supposed to save people. That’s my job. I took an oath…And…I couldn’t save Mom.”
He fell silent and Charlie nodded, not saying anything else. Both looked out over the scenery. Finally, Don spoke again. “It wasn’t your fault, Charlie. It wasn’t my fault or Dad’s or anyone else’s. She got sick.”
Charlie nodded again, accepting what his older brother had told him.
Don looked over at the younger man, still perplexed over the one answer he hadn’t gotten. “What made you think of this anyway?”
It was Charlie’s turn to give him a bitter laugh. He added in a twisted smile and gestured to an empty flower bed. “We had planned on planting these new flowers today. The two of us came up with it last spring. Mom even had me work out the right distances between the bulbs that would provide the best growth. I found the paper today with the math on it.”
“Oh,” Don said. An idea suddenly struck him. “How about you and I plant them tomorrow? The two of us.”
Charlie smiled, the sadness dissipating from the brown depths. “I’d like that. Mom would too. We can even use my equations.”
Don looped an arm around his brother’s shoulders and they leaned against one another, the despair and the grief from the last three months easing away bit by bit.
They stayed out there, watching the sun set and the night come.
Behind them, the oranges, reds, and purples of the setting star hit the Craftsman, illuminating the wood in its glow.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Numb3rs
Characters: Don, Charlie
Word Count: 899
Summary: Set one evening, three months after Margaret Eppes's death.
Warning: Deals with the death of Margaret Eppes.
Author's Note: Originally written for the Forums. Written in 30 minutes.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. They just let me play with them.
The house was quiet. Quiet and dark, Don noticed as he closed the front door. His fingers slipped down the grainy surface, falling back to hang loosely at his side.
Stepping into the foyer area, he removed his side piece and cell phone. The two objects clunked next to his mother’s green fluted bowl. For a moment, Don trailed his fingers over the green porcelain.
Nostalgia washed over him, memories of Margaret Eppes, of her love, wisdom, and patience, flooding through his system. The weight of those memories made him stagger back and one hand shot out to grab the small round table.
Don waited a few moments for the tide to pass. His breathing was ragged when he opened his eyes. The Craftsman was still dark and still quiet. It had been quiet for three months now, since Don, Charlie and his father had laid his mother to rest.
Without her warmth and while the three remaining Eppes struggled to merely survive with her loss, the usually lively house had turned cold and empty. Shadows constantly plagued the walls, threatening to grab hold and drag anyone back down into that darkness that was grief.
The three of them had struggled, Don, Charlie, and Alan, and it hadn’t been easy. Deaths never were. It was a fact of life, one that was unfair and cruel. But it was a fact nonetheless, as Don had come to realize.
In control, or at least somewhat in control on the outside, Don walked into the living room, intent on finding a game of some sorts to watch. Work hadn’t been exceedingly terrible as far as some cases went, but he was tired. He remembered his father mentioning something about going out to the corner store to get stuff for dinner.
Reaching for the side lamp, something caught his peripheral vision and made Don pause. He studied the figure for a few moments, weighing his options as to what to do.
Don made up his mind and forgot about a sports game. The door opened with ease and he stepped out into the green backyard, moving towards the koi pond.
Rays from the setting sun splayed out across the lawn and the fence. Crickets chirruped and birds whistled from the trees. Babbling water from the koi’s domain completed the peaceful atmosphere.
Charlie looked up as Don sat down next to him beside the pond. Twiddling a blade of grass between his fingers, he said, “Hey, Don.”
One look at his brother’s face told Don that something was wrong. The genius’s eyes were vacant and that sadness that had dominated them for the past six months was back tenfold. Carefully, he responded. “Hey, Charlie. What are you doing out here?”
“Just thinking.” That was the answer Charlie gave him.
Don didn’t press and settled for waiting.
After a few minutes of peering around the backyard and shredding the grass blade, Charlie sighed and shifted until his body was turned to Don. “Don, do you… do you think that I let Mom down?”
Don sucked in a deep breath of air, shocked at the bluntness of his brother’s question. “No, Buddy, not at all. Why would you think that?”
Charlie’s brown eyes peered up at him. “I just feel sometimes that I failed her somehow. I’m the genius. I’m the one that is supposed to have all the answers. And when she got sick… I didn’t have an answer.”
Swallowing, Don took a moment to think of his response. This was the first real time that Charlie had truly opened up about their mother’s death. “You didn’t fail her, Buddy. But, I know what you’re thinking and I get what you feel.”
His brother stared at him. “Yeah?”
Don’s hands went into motion as he talked, moving on their own. He gave a short bitter laugh. “I’m the FBI agent. I’m supposed to save people. That’s my job. I took an oath…And…I couldn’t save Mom.”
He fell silent and Charlie nodded, not saying anything else. Both looked out over the scenery. Finally, Don spoke again. “It wasn’t your fault, Charlie. It wasn’t my fault or Dad’s or anyone else’s. She got sick.”
Charlie nodded again, accepting what his older brother had told him.
Don looked over at the younger man, still perplexed over the one answer he hadn’t gotten. “What made you think of this anyway?”
It was Charlie’s turn to give him a bitter laugh. He added in a twisted smile and gestured to an empty flower bed. “We had planned on planting these new flowers today. The two of us came up with it last spring. Mom even had me work out the right distances between the bulbs that would provide the best growth. I found the paper today with the math on it.”
“Oh,” Don said. An idea suddenly struck him. “How about you and I plant them tomorrow? The two of us.”
Charlie smiled, the sadness dissipating from the brown depths. “I’d like that. Mom would too. We can even use my equations.”
Don looped an arm around his brother’s shoulders and they leaned against one another, the despair and the grief from the last three months easing away bit by bit.
They stayed out there, watching the sun set and the night come.
Behind them, the oranges, reds, and purples of the setting star hit the Craftsman, illuminating the wood in its glow.