Dedication: This story is dedicated to two people: First, my friend Elisabeth who ships this pairing with passion. Next to wild-springflower, who has helped me with a lot of my stories and is an amazing friend!

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Numb3rs. It would be awesome if I did though.
Short one-shot I have been thinking about writing for ages. I came up with it during a mathlesson, which is something I will never do again.

Simple Math

It's painfully simple. One plus one equals two. With me so far? Good. Now, here comes the tricky part. Add another one to that and suddenly it gets a lot more complicated. And yet, it is still so very simple. One, two and three. The same problem, the same result. Three, never two. But where did that extra one come from?

I know I'm being silly. I'm more than 30 years old, of course I know where it comes from. It's all about the bees and the flowers. You know the tradition where the uncomfortable father tells his young, "innocent" child about girls. My father wasn't uncomfortable. I wished he was though. He sat me down at the dinner table and spent the next half an hour scarring me.

Okay, I'm ready to try again. I don't understand... I'm a famous mathematician, it shouldn't be so hard. One plus one equals two. And then we add another one. Why was this so hard to get? That it wasn't two, but three.

First there's me. Me being Charlie Eppes, professor at Cal-Sci. Then, there's my wife Amita. That's two. And two is absolutely fantastic. And there is number three. A child, my child! And I am scared, or rather frightened, that I am going to fail.

I throw myself into a chair and close my eyes. Oh, and here they are again, the numbers. Dancing in front of me, just out of my reach. I am going to fail, I just know I am.

Suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up and see my father's smiling face. I still can't believe they threw me out, I wasn't panicking that much... I think. His mouth moves, but I don't register the words. I just stand up, mechanically and follow him to the room where Amita and my child are. I feel dazed, overwhelmed, as I follow him. He stops just outside and for a moment I hesitate before opening the door.

There she is. Amita. She looks exhausted, but when she looks up and smile at me, she has never looked more beautiful. I walk over to her and press a small kiss to her forehead, before looking at the bundle in her arms.

For a second I stop breathing. I even think my heart stops. For the first time, I look at her. My daughter. My perfect little daughter. And she is so indescribably beautiful I couldn't possibly tear my eyes away from her. She's sleeping and I reach out to touch her cheek and find myself unable to hold back a single tear. I have never in my life been happier.

Two may be fantastic, but three is perfect.

Suddenly it all clicks. One plus one equals two. Two plus one equals three. There, problem solved. Because sometimes it is just simple math.

The end