For MusicalLuna, who wanted Don to get a paper cut.

Thanks to Petra for looking it over and fixing my dumb sentences. I sort of love you. :P

Most of these will have some form of whump in them, only because that's what Luna likes most. And she basically gets whatever she wants from me when it comes to fic ;D

Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs.

"Charlie, would you snap out of it?!"

Don is loud because Charlie refuses to listen, and it's frustrating. He doesn't care that Charlie's office door is wide open, or that he's inviting curious glances from the people walking slowly past the door. A few students stop to ask if the Professor needs help, but Larry hears the commotion and ushers them all away.

"I'm just going to close this," he practically whispers on his way out. Don doesn't even acknowledge him because Charlie mumbles something about probability again and, God, he just won't stop. He paces back and forth in front of the window while clutching a small book between his fingers, knuckles white with tension and palms moist with sweat.

One hand on his hip, the other pinching the bridge of his nose, Don sighs. "Look, I know I'm asking a lot here, but I need you to do this for me, okay? Charlie?"

He reaches out to touch Charlie's arm and his brother jerks violently and swats Don's hand. "Just-just don't," Charlie hisses.

Don cracks.

"All right, that's it," he snaps and grabs Charlie's book, pulling hard. "Would you listen to me?!"

Charlie struggles against Don's grip, twisting sharply and yanking the book down. Don pulls a hand back and curses as Charlie watches a small red droplet hit his office floor.

"Oh God." Charlie drops the book from his shaky hands and falls into the brown leather chair behind him.

Don shakes his head while sucking on his bloody finger. "No, don't worry about it."

"I'm sorry, Don. I'm sor-I'm really sorry." Charlie runs a hand through his curly black hair. His eyes are tired, red and glassy, Don notices.

"Look, Buddy," he says as he sits in the chair next to his brother. "It wasn't your fault. None of this was, you hear me?"

Charlie swallows hard. "If I had just-" he starts. His mouth moves without words for a moment as a few curls fall over his eyes. "I don't know, I must have done something wrong. A miscalculation somewhere..." Charlie's voice cracks and he trails off, Staring at nothing.

"You can't do this to yourself. You can't go back and second guess everything you did, you know?" Don pats him on the shoulder, leaving a small drop of blood on his white dress shirt. "It'll eat you up."

Once he's found his voice again, Charlie looks up and whispers, "She was only 15, Don."

Don can't justify it, so he just nods.