Numb3rs ficlet: Baby Eppes
note: This one's been sitting on my sketchpad for over a month, waiting for me to put it on the computer.
title: (N/A)
summary: Don and Amita had a baby. Charlie gets to hold him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
No amount of talking on Charlie's part kept the baby from being brought over to him, and he was helpless as his father placed wee Alexander Eppes into his arms. From where he sat, a little under a foot away, Colby advised Charlie on how to position his arms - advice Alan was echoing.
And Charlie looked down at his nephew. Intellectual knowledge, like that Alex was the result of his brother Don being married to his most beautiful former student, wasn't even on his radar. Charlie only knew - visceral knowledge - that this little fellow was fragile as a thought, as delicate as an unproven assertion. For the first time, Charlie understood why some people were just fine going through life without feeling the need to crack the eggshell of assumption - it placed its own unwavering trust in you, and you dared not shift for fear the little'un would be uncomfortable.
"Charlie," the other new grandfather said. "Look up."
"I can't," Charlie said quietly, as much from fear of waking up Alexander (the eyes were closed, that means sleep in babies, right?) as from not wanting to have to say that to Mr Ramanujan, who, like Charlie's own father, is a grandfather for the first time.
But mostly because Charlie was afraid. Terrified that, should he look away from Alexander, something would go awry, amiss. Anything from Alex vanishing like an erased theory, to Alex being hurt by some unconcious twitch of Charlie's arms.
"Charles," Mr Ramanujan repeated.
Before Don could chime in with a 'C'mon, Chuck,' Charlie lifted his chin *just slightly* and half-looked as far towards the camera as he dared to - which was as high as he could without Alex leaving his field of sight; he was at once a room full of students and a teacher who must speak in the hallway with another teacher while making sure those pupils don't do anything to his hard work on the chalkboard.
Liz came over, Charlie wasn't sure how much later it was (he'd returned his gaze babywards after the photo). His eyes widened when she reached under Alex to wrap around two of Charlie's fingers, and he was willing to bet he was blushing a little.
Liz half eased, half tugged that hand into a position where his palm continued to support Alex - who grabbed one finger. Charlie's eyes stayed wide. (if he were to guess that Liz was smiling, he'd be right).
The great emptiness of Zero began to gnaw at Charlie in that moment. For he had previously assumed that, even if no famial love sweeps over him when he first holds the baby, that warm grip of positive feedback and satisfying math would take hold when Alex did. Is it me? Charlie wondered and feared, recalling all too well how he had once lamented 'I can't even dream right.'
He considered the possibility that this was stemming fro a desire he still carried for Amita, a wish that she'd had Alex with him instead. Considered and rejected the inaccurate hypothesis in a heartbeat. Don could give her more of everything she wanted than he could, Charlie knew. And he makes her happy - which was paramount: Amita's pleasure, not his own.
It wasn't that Charlie minded holding his nephew - he was perfectly willing to sit here and continue in this pose, in this role (provided he doesn't have to look elsewhere) - it was just that he didn't know what or how to feel for/with this ever-so-promising germ of an idea.
Charlie and Alex sit there, Liz adjusting the blankie at one point, until Don comes over to pick up his son.
***********************
Little Alexander Jacob Eppes lay sprawled in his crib, left foot perennially escaping the blankets, the back of one hand absently against his lips.
Amita and Don were standing at the cribside admiring what they were looking at, all pinkish and still wrinkly in spots.
"We did good," Don said, one hand on Amita's back.
In another time, maybe another place, Amita might have said, 'I like to think I was fantastic.' Here, one hand around Don, one hand on the crib's lip, Amita said, "Yeah. We did."
There wasn't really much more to say. He'd been at her side throughout the labor, kept close all during recovery.
"I called the (brahmin)," Don said. There was still *that* to say, though.
"You're sure about this?" Amita asked, looking at him.
"Yeah," Don said, meeting her gaze as Alex smacked his lips at a good dream. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Don, my parents and my grandmother already love you to death. You don't have to do this."
"I don't have to, but I want to. Unless you don't want to," he added in that voice of his that offers you an Out and puts no pressure on your shoulders.
"What about -"
"Alex got his bris at the hospital," the procedure being standard practice nowadays. "We know most of my side of the family's nonpracticing, and the rest would only get it if we put Alex through it."
"Amita sighed. "I'll think about it."
Don nodded. "Whatever you decide, I'm fine with." And, with a twinkle in his eyes, "Do any of these ceremonies involve lotions or ointments you need all over your body?"
Amita laughed, lightly to avoid waking their baby. "You enjoyed that far too much."
Don shrugged helplessly as she led him back to bed.
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the end
title: (N/A)
summary: Don and Amita had a baby. Charlie gets to hold him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
No amount of talking on Charlie's part kept the baby from being brought over to him, and he was helpless as his father placed wee Alexander Eppes into his arms. From where he sat, a little under a foot away, Colby advised Charlie on how to position his arms - advice Alan was echoing.
And Charlie looked down at his nephew. Intellectual knowledge, like that Alex was the result of his brother Don being married to his most beautiful former student, wasn't even on his radar. Charlie only knew - visceral knowledge - that this little fellow was fragile as a thought, as delicate as an unproven assertion. For the first time, Charlie understood why some people were just fine going through life without feeling the need to crack the eggshell of assumption - it placed its own unwavering trust in you, and you dared not shift for fear the little'un would be uncomfortable.
"Charlie," the other new grandfather said. "Look up."
"I can't," Charlie said quietly, as much from fear of waking up Alexander (the eyes were closed, that means sleep in babies, right?) as from not wanting to have to say that to Mr Ramanujan, who, like Charlie's own father, is a grandfather for the first time.
But mostly because Charlie was afraid. Terrified that, should he look away from Alexander, something would go awry, amiss. Anything from Alex vanishing like an erased theory, to Alex being hurt by some unconcious twitch of Charlie's arms.
"Charles," Mr Ramanujan repeated.
Before Don could chime in with a 'C'mon, Chuck,' Charlie lifted his chin *just slightly* and half-looked as far towards the camera as he dared to - which was as high as he could without Alex leaving his field of sight; he was at once a room full of students and a teacher who must speak in the hallway with another teacher while making sure those pupils don't do anything to his hard work on the chalkboard.
Liz came over, Charlie wasn't sure how much later it was (he'd returned his gaze babywards after the photo). His eyes widened when she reached under Alex to wrap around two of Charlie's fingers, and he was willing to bet he was blushing a little.
Liz half eased, half tugged that hand into a position where his palm continued to support Alex - who grabbed one finger. Charlie's eyes stayed wide. (if he were to guess that Liz was smiling, he'd be right).
The great emptiness of Zero began to gnaw at Charlie in that moment. For he had previously assumed that, even if no famial love sweeps over him when he first holds the baby, that warm grip of positive feedback and satisfying math would take hold when Alex did. Is it me? Charlie wondered and feared, recalling all too well how he had once lamented 'I can't even dream right.'
He considered the possibility that this was stemming fro a desire he still carried for Amita, a wish that she'd had Alex with him instead. Considered and rejected the inaccurate hypothesis in a heartbeat. Don could give her more of everything she wanted than he could, Charlie knew. And he makes her happy - which was paramount: Amita's pleasure, not his own.
It wasn't that Charlie minded holding his nephew - he was perfectly willing to sit here and continue in this pose, in this role (provided he doesn't have to look elsewhere) - it was just that he didn't know what or how to feel for/with this ever-so-promising germ of an idea.
Charlie and Alex sit there, Liz adjusting the blankie at one point, until Don comes over to pick up his son.
***********************
Little Alexander Jacob Eppes lay sprawled in his crib, left foot perennially escaping the blankets, the back of one hand absently against his lips.
Amita and Don were standing at the cribside admiring what they were looking at, all pinkish and still wrinkly in spots.
"We did good," Don said, one hand on Amita's back.
In another time, maybe another place, Amita might have said, 'I like to think I was fantastic.' Here, one hand around Don, one hand on the crib's lip, Amita said, "Yeah. We did."
There wasn't really much more to say. He'd been at her side throughout the labor, kept close all during recovery.
"I called the (brahmin)," Don said. There was still *that* to say, though.
"You're sure about this?" Amita asked, looking at him.
"Yeah," Don said, meeting her gaze as Alex smacked his lips at a good dream. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Don, my parents and my grandmother already love you to death. You don't have to do this."
"I don't have to, but I want to. Unless you don't want to," he added in that voice of his that offers you an Out and puts no pressure on your shoulders.
"What about -"
"Alex got his bris at the hospital," the procedure being standard practice nowadays. "We know most of my side of the family's nonpracticing, and the rest would only get it if we put Alex through it."
"Amita sighed. "I'll think about it."
Don nodded. "Whatever you decide, I'm fine with." And, with a twinkle in his eyes, "Do any of these ceremonies involve lotions or ointments you need all over your body?"
Amita laughed, lightly to avoid waking their baby. "You enjoyed that far too much."
Don shrugged helplessly as she led him back to bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the end