Fic: Mea Culpa
Written for numb3rs100 prompt #408: Twist
Title: Mea Culpa
Pairings/Characters: Don, Charlie, Alan
Rating/Category: PG13
Word Count: 270
Spoilers: General S1
Summary: Sometimes life throws you a curveball. Literally. Don's baseball accident forces Charlie to learn the hard way that math can’t predict everything.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Numb3rs is not mine. The stories, characters, and cast-in all of their awesomeness-belong to Cheryl Heuton, Nicholas Falacci and CBS.
By the time Don gets back from the hospital, arm in a cast, the game is long over. One look at his father’s face tells him all he needs to know. “How bad?”
“You were slaughtered.”
Don sighs, combs a free hand through his hair. “How’s Chuck?”
“In the garage.”
Sure enough, Charlie is pacing in front of the single chalkboard their parents had purchased for his birthday, gripping a piece of chalk in his hand like a lifeline. The board is covered in complex-looking equations, the kind no eleven year-old should be able to do.
For a moment Don feels frustrated. Charlie’s not the one who has to sit out the rest of the season with a broken arm. He doesn’t have to sit on the bleachers while his team practices.
When he catches sight of his brother’s face, the frustration is replaced with guilt. As usual, Charlie isn't trying to make everything about him, he’s just pinned all the blame on himself.
“Math’s not going to help you this time, buddy.”
Charlie jumps, chalk falling to the floor. “Don, I-”
“Don’t apologise,” Don cuts him off swiftly, catching sight of the guilt-ridden look in his younger brother’s eyes. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“But if I had only adjusted my models-”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference. You had no way of knowing their pitcher had been working on a new curveball.”
“But I could have-”
“Math can’t predict everything, Charlie. Things happen sometimes that you have no control over.”
Charlie sighs, gaze wandering back to the chalkboard. “I’m sorry about your arm.”
“Me too,” Don says quietly, glancing down at the cast. “But you know what this means?”
He frowns. “What?”
“We have until next summer to come up with a curveball of our own.”
Title: Mea Culpa
Pairings/Characters: Don, Charlie, Alan
Rating/Category: PG13
Word Count: 270
Spoilers: General S1
Summary: Sometimes life throws you a curveball. Literally. Don's baseball accident forces Charlie to learn the hard way that math can’t predict everything.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Numb3rs is not mine. The stories, characters, and cast-in all of their awesomeness-belong to Cheryl Heuton, Nicholas Falacci and CBS.
By the time Don gets back from the hospital, arm in a cast, the game is long over. One look at his father’s face tells him all he needs to know. “How bad?”
“You were slaughtered.”
Don sighs, combs a free hand through his hair. “How’s Chuck?”
“In the garage.”
Sure enough, Charlie is pacing in front of the single chalkboard their parents had purchased for his birthday, gripping a piece of chalk in his hand like a lifeline. The board is covered in complex-looking equations, the kind no eleven year-old should be able to do.
For a moment Don feels frustrated. Charlie’s not the one who has to sit out the rest of the season with a broken arm. He doesn’t have to sit on the bleachers while his team practices.
When he catches sight of his brother’s face, the frustration is replaced with guilt. As usual, Charlie isn't trying to make everything about him, he’s just pinned all the blame on himself.
“Math’s not going to help you this time, buddy.”
Charlie jumps, chalk falling to the floor. “Don, I-”
“Don’t apologise,” Don cuts him off swiftly, catching sight of the guilt-ridden look in his younger brother’s eyes. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“But if I had only adjusted my models-”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference. You had no way of knowing their pitcher had been working on a new curveball.”
“But I could have-”
“Math can’t predict everything, Charlie. Things happen sometimes that you have no control over.”
Charlie sighs, gaze wandering back to the chalkboard. “I’m sorry about your arm.”
“Me too,” Don says quietly, glancing down at the cast. “But you know what this means?”
He frowns. “What?”
“We have until next summer to come up with a curveball of our own.”