A Little Less Than Enough

[musicalluna]

Title: A Little Less Than Enough
Fandom: Numb3rs
Author: MusicalLuna
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Charlie, Don
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: None
Complete: Yes
Summary: Don needs Charlie's findings, and he needs them ASAP. Well, maybe it can wait 'til morning.
A/N: Hee. Got this idea and then couldn't resist. Don is so woobie.
Disclaimer: Want but do not have.

Dad's house—no, Charlie's house Don reminded himself—was dark when he came through the front door at one-thirty a.m. He grimaced and hoped that Dad had turned all of the lights off before going to bed and Charlie was still awake in the garage. He wasn't supposed to be sleeping this early. He was supposed to be working on some system analysis blah blah math whatever that would help them figure out who the hell was working for these damned terrorists.

Rubbing his fingers in the corners of gritty eyes, Don headed toward the garage and was relieved to see that the light was still on. When he stepped inside, he expected to see Charlie in front of one of the chalkboards, white chalk clacking frantically across its surface, but he had a clear view of the scribbled numbers.

He frowned. "Charlie?"

There was no reply so he started looking a little more closely. It wasn't until he turned toward the air hockey table on the other side of the room that he finally found what he was looking for.

Don pushed back his jacket, planting a hand on his hip and carded his hand through his hair with a sigh.

Charlie was passed out on top of the air hockey table.

It looked like he might have sat down to think about the equation or expression or whatever the hell it was on the chalkboards and then had just...passed out. There was a box that he recognized as the files he had gotten compiled for Charlie to work from sitting in his lap, one hand dangling into it's interior, the other curled around the front of the box, his head drooped awkwardly forward against it. It was twisted at a really unholy looking angle that was going to give him hell when he woke up again.

Unbelievable. Don dug his fingers into the corners of his eye sockets again.

Damn it all. He needed the analysis for the suspected terrorists cell network and he needed it now before—

He let out an explosive breath and wiped his hand over his face, then moved toward the table. "Charlie," he called. No answer. Don raised his voice. "Charlie."

Not even a twitch.

Don grimaced and looked Charlie over, huffing out a dry little laugh when he saw the string of drool leaking from the corner of Charlie's mouth down onto the files. The momentary spark of mirth disappeared when he saw the dark shadows marring the skin under Charlie's eyes though—the paleness of his skin. Even his jaw was shadowed with dark stubbled growth. And Charlie almost never went without shaving, even when he was in the middle of his mathematical breakthroughs. It made him feel “dirty” whatever the hell that meant.

But it bothered Don that he hadn't noticed Charlie's habits falling to the wayside. It was only a day's worth of growth, but for Charlie that was a pretty big deal. And those circles under his eyes hadn't just sprung up in the last couple of hours. How long had it been since Charlie had slept last?

When he couldn't think of a single time in the last forty-eight hours that he remembered seeing Charlie sleep, Don felt something in his gut twist unpleasantly. But there were gaps in that time period, when he hadn't been with Charlie. He could have slept then.

A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him that Charlie had been teaching a full-load of classes all week, including extended office hours since mid-terms were next week. Every spare second he'd had between classes and after hours had been spent at the FBI office or in the garage, working feverishly to analyze, sort through, and plug in all of the data for the equation he was working on to try and help them find the terrorists.

Hell.

No wonder the kid had passed out. His body had probably just refused to do anymore without getting at least a little of the rest it so desperately craved. Waking him up definitely wasn't an option—even if it had been possible. As much as he wanted those names, Charlie was clearly out of commission. At least for tonight.

He couldn't stay where he was though. That would do way more damage than it would do good.

So, heaving a sigh, he lifted Charlie's hand out of the box and then carefully shifted it out of his lap, letting Charlie's head fall against his chest. His breathing changed slightly, a small snuffling sound followed by a long breath, but he slept on, unperturbed. A smile tugged at the corner of Don's mouth as he looked down at the curly head pressed against his chest.

Charlie's hair was limp and greasy though and that was just another reminder of how much pressure Don had been laying on him. He should know better. Charlie had no concept of how to balance his work and his physical needs, especially when he was wrestling with a particularly difficult problem. He should have been watching him more carefully, making sure he was getting at least a token amount of rest.

Don put a hand around the back of Charlie's neck and was surprised when Charlie mumbled out a few throaty, approving noises. Nothing intelligible, but still. He gave it one last gentle squeeze and then reached down, sliding his arm under Charlie's legs. “Come on, Buddy,” he murmured, “Let's get you somewhere more comfortable.”

His little brother was not as little as he remembered though, and he had to move fast, panting out breaths in short bursts to ferry Charlie over to the worn old brown couch, his back and arms demanding that he stop immediately or face dire consequences. They reached the couch without any disastrous results, however and Don set Charlie down with a huff of expelled breath, gently as he could manage. Charlie hummed softly, his head turning into the curve of the couch cushions and he curled his knees up still fast asleep.

Don shook his head. “I know Dad says an earthquake could wake you up, but I dunno, Buddy. I'm just not buyin' it.”

He tugged off Charlie's shoes without bothering to be too careful about it, because if that move hadn't woken him up, nothing would. He got a blanket from the cupboard at the top of the stairs and tossed it over him, then sat down on the floor to wait. Charlie never slept for more than a couple of hours. He could relax for that long.

Ten minutes later he was slouched against the front of the couch near Charlie's chest, his head lolling to the side as he slept alongside his brother.

Comments

[ladygray99]

Awwwww

Don being a good big brother is so sweet.

[spatula.livejournal.com]

I enjoyed this - thank you!